


Loose Ends

by watchingoverher



Series: The Ties That Bind [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-03-09 01:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18907078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchingoverher/pseuds/watchingoverher
Summary: Set between 8x4 and 8x5Sandor is on a dead-end road to redemption. Arya is on a path to violence with a fork ahead. Follow them on their journey to King's Landing as they share their life stories, let down their walls, develop a sense of belonging, and learn there's more to life than death.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more dialogue than plot because 1) I mostly want to explore a number of topics that were not revealed to each other in the show and 2) the 8x5 ending will remain. The M rating is for language at this point.

As the sun begins to dip, he starts scouting a safe place to camp for the night. He doesn't bother asking Arya's opinion. For one, she invited herself on this blood trip, and for another, she's barely spoken to him all day. Sandor looks over at her, noting at once that same blank yet ruthless expression on her face. He really wonders what her fucking problem is but is too cold and tired to start anything tonight. He catches her attention and motions to turn off the Kingsroad. She gives him a subtle nod and follows his horse through the trees.

He finds an are that will do, steps down from his horse, and begins to secure it. Arya looks around briefly before lithely doing the same. They fall into a long forgotten rhythm as they set up camp, start a fire, catch and cook food, and he finds it quite comfortable. The sun is barely hanging on as they finally sit on opposite sides of the fire to eat and relax before sleeping.

He watches her face and is reminded of their brief conversation before the dead arrived and all hell broke loose. He's struck by just how different she is now, and what might have made her that way. The little wolf-girl he remembered never shut up and was quite foolhardy, but so very stubborn and _alive_. This version of Arya is eerily quiet and emotionless, though much more dangerous if killing that horned fucker is any indication.

"What?" she asks after sighing heavily, unfolding her legs, and then returns his stare. While he finds it a little unsettling, he's not altogether surprised that she is acutely aware of him and what's going on around her.

"What the fuck's worth dying for in King's Landing?" He'd guess it's about that damn list of hers, but frankly, he just wants her to talk to him. She rewards him a look he can't quite read.

"I'm going to kill the Queen," she says in her new flat tone. Without dropping her gaze or even a hint of humor she adds, "and maybe your brother too if he kills you first." While he thinks she's a little shit for saying it, he maintains eye contact and nods. "I'd think you of all people would understand why I have to go."

"Aye, I do, and there is a good chance that I don't make it." He reaches for the wine and takes a drink. "He's always been mean and he's even uglier than me now...," he smirks though that thought doesn't really bring him any happiness. "He knows I'm comin' for him," he takes another drink while looking at her. "What did he do to get on your little list anyway? It couldn't have been that bad since you're still alive," his tone is dismissive.

"The same could be said of you," she says honestly. "So what are you whinging about?" She raises an eyebrow but otherwise keeps a straight face at first, but starts to smirk as he figures it out.

"Gendry," he says as he sets the skin down and crosses his arms, "your lovesick pup". He is not disappointed when her face immediately turns angry.

"He is not _my_ anything, and it's none of your business!" her eyes narrow at him and stretches out on her side, facing away from him.

"Like hell he isn't," he scoffs while watching her closely. "He was sniffing around for you just before the dragon bitch made him a lord." He wonders what she thinks of that and if she'll go with him to Storm's End if she survives. After all, she did say she wasn't going back to Winterfell.

"Yes, well, he found me," she doesn't elaborate and pulls the blanket over herself.

"Ah, girl," he stalls trying to think of something else to talk about when he realizes she never answered his earlier question. "You never answered me," he uncrosses his arms to hold up a hand when she quickly rolls over, mouth opening ready to lay into him. "Why is my brother on your list of doomed men?" He puts his hand back down as he sees her relax.

"He was a guard at Harrenhal," she props herself up on an elbow, her head resting on her hand. He frowns and vaguely remembers her mentioning it before. "We were Lord Tywin's prisoners for a while." He nods and wonders how she made it out of there alive.

"You ask him nicely to go home, or did they tire of your constant yapping and toss you out?" She rolls her eyes and reminds him of the annoying little girl she used to be.

"Do you want to hear this or not?" He nods and rests his hands on his outstretched legs. She sighs and sits up before continuing. "Every day he would choose one of us for The Tickler. They would ask questions about the Brotherhood and then torture the prisoner."

"How?" He doesn't like the look in her eyes and can only imagine what his dear brother might have done to helpless women and children.

"The Mountain would strap a bucket to their chests with a rat inside," she places a hand on her front, just below her tits, where the bucket would be. "The Tickler would ask questions and your brother would hold a torch to the bottom of the bucket." He sees the hatred burning in her eyes. He can picture it and understands that the rat will have no choice but to chew and claw through the end that isn't on fire. "Afterwards, they would mount their heads on spikes for us all to see." He clenches his jaws and his fists. That brother of his should have been put down long ago. He has always been sadistic, and to know he could have picked the little wolf-girl...

"He never touched you?" She shakes her head and he releases some of the tension in his face. He starts to say that his brother's a mean fucker, but she starts speaking again before he gets the chance.

"But," she looks up at him then, "one day he chose Gendry, and there wasn't anything I could do to help him." He knows that feeling all too well. As Joffrey's dog, he had to stand by and watch many horrors, powerless to intervene unless he wanted his own head on a stick. "The day he picked Gendry, Lord Tywin came and stopped them from killing able bodies. He noticed I was a girl and put me to work as his cupbearer. I talked with him several times and he never knew I was a Stark." She shrugs and sits up, stretching the arm that had been supporting her head.

"You were damn lucky, girl. Either one of them could have murdered you, used you, or traded you for their own benefit," she nods at this and is well aware that others were not as fortunate. "How did you get out then? Your brother come to save ya?" She sighs and rubs her eyes.

"It's a long story." He doesn't object and so she carries on. "Remember Rorge and the man that bit you?" He grumbles and his hand goes to that spot on his neck reflexively. She must take that as a yes and continues. "When the Lannister men attacked our group, a wagon holding three prisoners caught fire. I helped them escape, then Polliver killed Lommy and stole my sword. They took us to Harrenhal," he remembers most of that. He'd been quite proud of her the day she killed him and took it back, even let her have her own horse afterward.

"I didn't ask how you got there, girl. I asked how you got out alive." His voice sounds annoyed and louder than is necessary in the stillness of the night.

She doesn't react except to keep her cold eyes on him. "I told you once I knew a killer worse than you. He was the third man in the wagon. He found me at Harrenhal and said I stole three lives from the God of Death. He-"

"And you believed that shit?" He scoffs and shakes his head, but she continues as if nothing happened.

"He asked for three names. I named the Tickler and another guard, and he killed them for me. The third name I gave him was his own," he notes that she doesn't sound apologetic.

"That's fucked up, wolf-girl, even for you." He considers why she might want him dead if he was helping her but can't think of any explanation.

"I said I'd unname him if he helped us escape. He refused at first, but eventually he did what he said. He killed the guards and the three of us walked out of the gates," she lays down again now, this time on her back.

"It was just you and Gendry when we crossed paths." He watches as she produces a large coin, turning it in her fingers.

"The other was... like Sam," he nods and understands that to mean he wasn't a fighter. "He found work at an inn."

"What of your friend?" He wonders which house this man belonged to and if he knew he was helping a Stark bitch. She tucks the coin away then and looks at him. Her eyes look black and if she wasn't so tiny, he might actually ready his sword.

"He went to Braavos afterward," and he recalls their conversations about this killer she worshiped and a friend in Braavos. "I went to him after I thought you were dead, and he-," she can't finish the sentence because he cuts her off.

"He fucked you and broke your heart, eh? Is that what all this cold little bitch attitude is about? Hells, girl, I thought you were smarter than that." He's known too many girls to think they're in love only to find their prince a rotten cunt. She stands up and looks at him like Brienne did that day on the cliffs. She moves directly in front of him and begins removing some of her layers of clothing. As she's untucking the last layer from her pants, he glimpses skin and looks away. "The fuck you doing?" he says angrily.

"Answering your question," she says vaguely and he turns his head, eyes going to her middle instantly. She is holding the right side of her shirt up with both hands and has tugged her pants down enough for him to see her scars. He's familiar with scars, and these are not new wounds, nor are they just scratches. They were meant to kill her and he wants to murder the bastard that did this. He wraps a hand around her hip and turns her slightly to see them completely. "He never touched me but he sent someone to kill me," she says sadly, "he was _not_ my friend." She lowers the shirt and he removes his hand. After adjusting the rest of her clothes and gathering what she took off, she goes back over to lay down. She's grown accustomed to sleeping in all sorts of conditions and is asleep before long.

He watches her for a time. No noble girl her age should ever go through as much shit as Arya, and he's getting the impression that he doesn't know the half of it. He closes his eyes and hopes for sleep to take him soon. If he wasn't so angered by his fucking brother and this Braavosi cunt, he might actually think about how her skin felt under his hand.


	2. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya may seem a little soft in this, but I think if we had gotten more conversations between our characters instead of action scene, action scene, action scene this season, we might know a little more about her inner turmoil. Both characters will have to yield a little to be able to meet in the middle in this story.

He wakes up sometime after the sun and curses himself for sleeping so long. He looks over to see Arya's spot not only empty but already packed. He's not worried she took off this time though since she's hardly his captive. However, he is surprised that he didn't wake up as she did it.

He takes care of his own things, relieves himself, washes up a bit, then goes to find her. She isn't hard to find as there's a distinct thud every so often. He heads toward the sound and stops when he has a good view of her. She doesn't seem to notice him so he takes a minute to watch her.

She's fully dressed again, thank the gods, and is standing with her eyes closed. She spins herself in circles without appearing to move anything but her toes. With her eyes still closed, she begins making her way through the trees. Over rocks, under branches, between clusters of saplings, up and down uneven terrain, without a misstep. She's quick too, quicker than most who can see what they're doing. His brows knit together as he watches her body stretch, bend, and crouch effortlessly.

He can't deny that she's grown up a lot since they last traveled all over fucking Westeros. His eyes roam up and down her body. Aye, she's taller, filled out some, and is obviously a woman now. While she's small and not as curvy as he likes 'em, she'd never pass for a boy anymore, that's for damn sure. There are other changes too, and not just the wolf bitch attitude. There's something about her eyes, her movements, the little she does say, that makes him think she's lived five lifetimes and not just her eighteen years.

Of course, that shit she's doing isn't much better than the water dancing she used to love much. One blow from a fist, or foot, or sword from someone his size and she'd go down hard. That thin little blade won't help much either. He decides she lacks the strength to be a good fighter but is still something impressive. He moves closer to tell her it's time to go while noticing that she's back where she started, eyes still closed. She turns and before he can react, he hears something fly by and thud into the tree half a foot to his right.

He sees her fancy dagger buried deep in the tree bark and turns to her, open-mouthed and angry. Her eyes are open now and laughing at him, though her lips are only showing the hint of a smile. He shakes his head and marches forward until they're half a step apart. She puts a hand on his chest, keeping him from coming any closer, yet not pushing him away.

"Very funny, girl. I thought you were done trying to kill me. This little adventure bringing back some ideas?" He glares down at her and she appears to find it amusing.

"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have hit the tree instead of you," calmly stepping around him to remove her dagger from the tree. He watches as she sheathes it on her belt and walks back to camp. He doesn't want to stand here all day arguing, so he follows her, but will be a little more on guard around her now.

* * *

Their ride is uneventful like the day before. She is mostly quiet though she doesn't come across as unfriendly when they do speak. He's glad that most of the rest of the journey will involve inns rather than the unforgiving ground. He longs for some wine, a full belly, and a soft bed. Maybe Beric is right and he's getting old. 

They make it to the inn at dusk. Once again they go about getting everything squared away in a companionable manner. He secures and feeds the horses as she goes about getting rooms. He goes in when he's finished and nods at the man across the room before making his way over to Arya. She takes a drink of her wine and silently watches him sit across from her. There are only a couple of others here and he's grateful for the respite. He picks up his own drink and finishes half of it at once. Their food arrives shortly after and they both dig in hungrily.

Later, after they've both finished their meals and are lazily drinking, a couple of women come in, obviously whores. He openly eyes one of them and considers making the most it given that his days are likely numbered. He turns back to his cup and realizes that Arya saw him admiring the bitch. She raises an eyebrow at him but he speaks before she can needle him about it.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, don't pretend that you didn't want the same thing when you thought you were going to die." He had left the battlements shortly after she did, not wanting to spend his last hours with Beric either, and heard part of her conversation with Gendry. No, they hadn't been fucking yet, but the way he acted at the feast made him think Gendry was after another tumble. It's been way too damn long for him though and she could make him happy for a little while, as even noble Sansa suggested. What a fucking weird conversation that had been.

He's expecting Arya to deny it, or get angry and tell him to fuck off because her precious Gendry is not something she wishes to discuss with him. She surprises him by nodding after a time and looking sadder than he's seen her in a long while.

"What happened, girl?" He drains his wine and hopes more comes around soon. If he's not going to bed the whore tonight, there's no reason he shouldn't enjoy his fill.

"What do you mean 'what happened'? I'm sure you've been with enough whores to know how it works," she levels him with an icy stare and frowns.

"Aye, I know how fucking works, girl," he says as he leans closer, "but I want to know what happened after _Lord_ Baratheon went looking for you." Their wines are replenished before she has a chance to answer. When they're alone again, she grimaces and sighs, then talks while staring at the table.

"He proposed. He said he loved me and wanted me to be his _lady_ ," she can't keep the disgust from her voice. "He doesn't even know me. That's not me and it never will be, and I told him as much several times," she takes another drink and he's starting to wonder if he'll have to carry a drunk or unconscious wolf-girl up to her bed. "I don't love him, though maybe I should. He helped me stay alive between King's Landing and, well, you."

He studies her face and sees that her eyes are shiny, but thankfully not weeping. God, he doesn't know how to handle crying women. "I just-," she exhales loudly, "-don't want to be like Sansa. Granted she's better now than she used to be," he nods at this, remembering how she naively believed in fairy tales."I don't give two shits about dresses, etiquette, or having people at my feet like I'm a hero," she downs the rest of her drink and sets the empty cup down harder than is necessary. "Loyalty and duty got my father killed and my sister raped," she does shed tears now but wipes them away quickly, likely more uncomfortable about it than he is.

While he's not a bloody woman, he does understand her problem. Being a girl in this part of the world, especially one of the great families doesn't allow for much, if any, choice. He's more than a little annoyed that he put himself in this situation. What the fuck does he know about giving anyone comfort? After a pause, he repeats the only comfort he's been given lately and puts his big hand over hers on the table. The look Arya gives him is initially one of surprise but seems to shift to something more like solidarity as they look at each other. He doesn't know what to say to her and she seems okay with that. After some time, she puts her other hand on his, and when she speaks her eyes are as soft as her words.

"Sometimes I wonder why I'm here," her thumb rubs across his knuckles, "it seems that I have served my purpose also. I don't fit in as a highborn lady and I feel like a stranger in my own home." She pulls her hands from his and stands up. "All I'll ever know is death," she places one of her hands on his bearded face. Her lips move as if to start speaking, but instead she gives him a sad smile and walks away.

He sits there a while longer and thinks about everything he's learned about Arya the last couple days. He adds that to what he knows from before about losing her home, parents, brother, and aunt in a short time. Truth be told, he has a lot of respect for both Stark girls. To have survived what they have, almost entirely on their own, is noteworthy. He gets up and ignores the whores on the way out and finds himself at her room instead. He thinks about knocking to at least check on her, but lets her have some peace.


	3. Day 3

The next morning he finds her waiting for him by the horses. She appears to have been awake a while and is already packed and ready to go. Looking at her today, you'd almost never know that she had been so sad and open last night. The cold expression has returned and her words are very measured and rare. Her eyes though... they tell him that she's still troubled and that it wasn't just the result of a few drinks. He prepares his own things quickly since she appears to be in a hurry to leave.

As they set off, he steels himself for another boring day on the saddle. He glances over at her from time to time but she looks the same as she always does. Every now and then he thinks he notices her turning away from him when he looks her way. Hells, she said more to him when she wanted him dead then she does while they're riding now. Why did she even come along if she wants to be alone? He'll never understand her.

Around midday, they take a break to eat and water the horses. She rests against a large rock as he leans on a fallen log. He slouches a bit to rest his head on the log while thinking about how much of a journey is still ahead of them, what might happen when they get there, and who will be left standing. Arya chooses now to interrupt his thoughts.

"You look like that day on the cliffs," she says as she sits a few feet down from him on the log. He hadn't heard her move. "How did you survive that?" Her voice is soft and full of... affection? He lets his mind travel back to that day. He remembers the anger at himself for not being up to the challenge due to his wound, the humiliation at being bested by a woman, his shame for not taking her to safety, and the fear of dying.

He looks at her, knowing his feelings must be in his eyes. "A septon found me. He thought I was dead because of the stench and bugs," he swallows hard thinking about how much pain he was in before he had started to heal, "he didn't think I was going to make it and almost buried me." He sits up more and angles his body so he can see her better. "I stayed on there for a time." He often finds himself wondering if he might have stayed with them longer had they not been murdered by the Brotherhood outlaws.

"You and a septon?" She lets out a little laugh and he nods. "How long were you there?" She moves to sit on the ground closer to him.

"He wasn't what you'd expect. We talked some and he was one of the few people in all my life to see something other than a dog and a murderer. He kept telling me that it's never too late to do good," he lowers his eyes and exhales. "He said there's a reason I'm still here. I didn't quite believe it but I did try," he takes a moment to calm himself, "and then some of the Brotherhood cut him down. His followers too." He laughs darkly. "I hadn't killed anyone in two years, but after I found Brother Ray hanging in the sept, I hunted them down and killed all but one... Beric and Thoros beat me to it." He picks at his dirty fingernails in his lap to avoid looking at her.

"I'm sorry that happened to you. Truly," she pushes up to a squatting position to get closer and see his face. He looks down at her to find her eyes sincere and wet with unshed tears. "I also knew a man that saved me, cared for me, tried to teach me about life, and was also killed needlessly." She holds his gaze, "They called him The Hound." She looks at him a moment longer then stands up and brushes off her pants. "Come on, _Sandor_ , or we're never going to make it to the next stop by nightfall," she doesn't wait for him to respond and heads for the horses. He follows and they are soon back on the road south.

He feels gutted. Remembering the aftermath of Brienne of fucking Tarth is still unpleasant. Finally finding some peace with Ray's group, just to have them all butchered will forever make him want to go back and murder those Brotherhood men all over again, this time with lots of suffering. Then to have Arya say that to him... he hadn't really thought of it that way, but supposed it's true enough. The Hound died on the cliffs. The dog, the murderer, the worst parts of himself. His given name sounds odd to him now, especially coming from her. He looks over at her and she seems to be lost in thought as well.

* * *

They arrive at the inn just after dark, both weary from the day and not fully recovered from the Great War. There's only one room left, however, the innkeeper will provide a small floor pallet, and as Arya can fall sleep just about anywhere, they accept.

The night continues much as it did the night before. They sit at a table eating and drinking wine, though there are more people milling about this time. Their conversations are mostly light and dotted with periods of companionable silence. She excuses herself to take a bath and he nods and tells her that he'll be along in a little while. About an hour later, he heads to the room, assuming she'll be clean and in bed by now.

He knocks as softly as his heavy hands will allow to give her a chance to speak up if she's not decent. He waits but hears nothing coming from inside. He cracks open the door and says her name, but there's only silence. He enters, shuts the door behind him, and makes out a small shape on the floor. She's curled up on her side in front of the fire on the furs.

He takes the time to bathe himself and put on clean clothes. He glances at her often to make sure she's not looking or getting up. Once he's decent, he debates about leaving her there or waking her to get in bed, she startles him by speaking.

"It's the same color as Nymeria, my wolf," she says running her hand through the fur, still facing the fire. He had forgotten that all of Ned's children had direwolves. He sits on the edge of the bed, feeling too naked without his armor or other layers. He doesn't like how his chest feels at seeing her like this and in his room at night. He also isn't sure how to respond to such a random comment.

Arya gets up slowly and crosses toward him, and she doesn't look groggy or tired. He wonders if she was awake all this time, and if so, why she pretended to be sleeping. He notices that she also rid herself of unnecessary layers, leaving only pants and a tunic. She stops once she's standing between his knees and her eyes slide down to his neck.

Sandor holds very still and waits to see what she wants this time. It could be almost anything given the odd way about her. The first night she approached like this, she showed him her scars. The second night, she touched his face. What now?

Suddenly, but slowly, she rests a hand on his neck just below the bite scar. He jerks back instinctively, but her hand doesn't budge, and she is pulled closer to his body as a result. His hands find their way to her hips, but he immediately loses the urge to push her away. Undeterred, she slides her other hand up into his hair and grasps a handful to hold him in place.

Sandor could easily free himself, tell her to fuck off, or push her away and go to sleep. He does none of these things and is equal parts alarmed and curious about whatever the fuck is happening. Her thumb begins to move back and forth across the permanent mark. Her face is mostly in shadow this way, but he can see that her lips are parted. Her hand is warm on his neck and he is enjoying the sensation of such a small gesture.

His left hand slowly moves to her hip, resting under her shirt, and over her pants. He copies her movements, rubbing his calloused thumb across her scars. A soft _mmm_ escapes her lips and he feels his cock stir. His mind is screaming that this is Arya, and so very wrong, but his body can't seem to care. He wants to feel more of her skin, touch her in other places, and learn what else makes her vocal.

She lets go of his hair to wrap that arm around his neck and presses her body tightly to his. He closes his eyes while breathing deeply and feels himself grow harder. He can feel her warmth, smell the fragrant soap on her skin, and her breath by his ear. His hands slide up her back between her shoulder blades and the other encircles her tiny waist. The hand that was on his neck is now cupping the back of his head, encouraging him to nuzzle her neck and shoulder. He holds her against him and can't remember the last time he was held like this.

"Do you ever get tired of being alone?" Her breathy voice is just above a whisper and caresses his skin until her words sink in.

"All men do. Why do you think there are whores at every inn?" He opens his eyes and starts to pull away but she holds tighter.

"Don't." He needs to stop this, but he can't remember why when her fingers start moving along his scalp and through his hair. "I'm not talking about bedding whores." She pulls back and her hands fall to his neck, while his arms stay around her. "To be held, cared for, kissed, wanted... to not be alone?"

She says this quietly, her lips just inches from his, and he almost gives in to the urge to kiss them. Instead, he shakes his head and releases her before standing up, forcing her hands to let go as well. He doesn't understand what she wants from him.

"What does it matter if I did? You think anyone really wants to wake up to _this_ every day?" He points to his face and feeling dejected.

"I-," he holds up his hand to stop her.

"We should get some sleep," he pulls back the covers and gets in, turning his back to her. He doesn't hear anything then and dares to glance over his shoulder. Arya's sitting on the rug in front of the fire. She's hugging her knees to her chest and staring into the flames. She looks small and sad, like the night they got to the Twins too late. She spent damn near that whole night by their campfire in the same position.

Part of him wants to hold her and tell her it will all be okay. Part of him wants to shake her and demand to know what the hell she's doing. Was that pity? Is she laughing at him? Or maybe just needing any warm body to make her feel good?

He eventually has to stop these thoughts and get some sleep. Between the anger and lingering arousal, that will not be an easy task. He hopes she sleeps some too, or tomorrow is going to be even more miserable after what just happened.


	4. Day 4

When he wakes up the next morning, the first thing he thinks about is her. He replays what happened last night and how intimate it felt. He remembers the way she looked at him, the feel of her warm body in his arms, the softness of her skin, and how he had wanted to take her to bed. His hand travels down his covered chest to his bare stomach, intending to stroke his cock and think about what he'd do to her when he remembers that she's in the room. Fuck.

He turns his head and sees her asleep on the extra bed just a few feet away. He rolls to his side and looks her over. She's even more fucking tempting now and he bites back a groan. Her dark hair is mostly fanned out against her pillow, but a few stray pieces run down her neck and rest along her collarbone. He imagines moving it aside so he can kiss her along that same path.

One of her arms is laying flat against the bed above her head. He looks at her hand and imagines himself above her, pushing into her, holding both her hands like that against the bed. Her tunic has shifted during sleep to expose her neck and one entire shoulder. He remembers how she held him last night, with his face in that very spot, and he has to force himself to look away.

He wants her and that angers him. She's a woman, though just barely, but too good for the likes of him. No matter what either of them thinks about her place as a Stark, she's highborn and he's nothing. He has no business touching her or even having these thoughts. He doesn't understand her motives, but he's certain it can't be because she actually wants him. He exhales and takes one more look at her looking so inviting before climbing out of bed.

She wakes up then, yawning and stretching before she notices him. He's standing at the foot of his bed and putting on his armor and whatnot. She smiles unguardedly and his heart stops. She must remember then what happened last night, maybe by the stormy look on his face, and quickly drops the smile and looks away. Nobody has ever looked at him like that, like they were actually happy to see him. He takes a deep breath and tells her that he's going to get some food and ready the horses so she can have privacy.

"Alright," she says quietly. He nods without looking at her and leaves the room.

* * *

A few hours into their silent ride, she announces that she needs to stretch her legs. He agrees, needing to piss anyway, and walks the horses over to secure them before doing so. She walks off a bit and he lets her. He wants to grab her by her shoulders and shake her, to understand what she wants from him, to know why she's doing this. Instead, he walks through the trees to clear his mind.

Not long after that, he hears voices and holds very still. They're coming from the direction she had gone earlier. _Fuck_. He moves as quietly as the environment and his body will allow. As he grows closer, he can make out at least one male voice. It sounds conversational and not threatening, but he stays cautious. He stops close enough to see and hear if he's needed, but far enough away to not be noticed yet.

There are three men in front of her. They're soldiers but he's unclear which house is theirs. She's standing with her back to him, feet apart and hands behind her back. To them, she might seem unassuming, but he knows that's her fighting stance. His instinct is of course to step in and save the day, but he's honestly curious to see her in action, not to mention he'd really rather not break his no killing streak unless it's necessary.

One of them is doing all the talking. He asks if she's alone and what she's doing out here as the second moves to her right side and crosses his arms. The third man takes a couple of steps to her left and blatantly ogles her. They're surrounding her and no longer pretending to be friendly. Three armored men against one small woman and she just fucking stands there. He could kill her himself.

She has shifted her body slightly to stay in line with the apparent leader, and Sandor can see her slight smile now. He rests his right hand on his sword ready to gut them if they touch her. The talker asks if she's ever been fucked and takes a step towards her.

She takes one step back in response and calmly fucking says, "Nobody needs to die today." The men look at each other and begin laughing.

The talker speaks up again, "That's right. Let us see your pretty little cunt, and we won't kill you." His blood boils but he won't give up the advantage of surprise until the right time.

"You promise?" She says as timidly as he's ever heard her. They all nod and clearly think she's just going to lay there and take it. He is reminded of that time she approached the men talking about killing her brother. She had pretended to be weak then, offered them some silver or something, then stabbed the one to death. He was also angry at her then for almost getting herself killed.

The man on the left grabs her arm suddenly, and everything happens so fast after that. The man that grabbed her now has the pointy end of her sword sticking out his back. She removes it and he falls over, blood spreading until his back is a deep red. The man on the right swiftly receives the same treatment. The talker is a little taken aback but not discouraged.

The talker is big like him and he draws his sword. He takes a swing at her from above but she easily dodges the blow by taking a small step to the left. The next swing is meant to chop her head clean off, but she simply goes down on one knee to avoid it. The blow towards her chest is evaded by her curving her back and letting it go over top her. Sandor's mesmerized yet internally screaming at her to quit fucking around and end him already.

They're sword fighting in earnest now. Her moves have definitely improved since her water dancing days, and surprisingly, she's holding her own with that little stick. She manages to slice his fingers with it so he has to switch sword hands. Again, instead of killing him, she fucking grins. She twirls her little blade and rests her hands behind her back, actually waiting for the little prick to attack. The wolf bitch is crazy, has to be, there's no other explanation.

She skillfully dodges more blows, before dropping low and spinning to slice at his legs. His sword thuds into the ground, just missing her again, then she spins and they're sword fighting again. The talker manages to land a blow with his foot, just like Sandor fucking knew could happen because of her size, and she goes down hard. He's about to step in and save her when she launches herself in a crouch with her sword raised. They spar some more before the fucker manages to knock her sword out of her hand. He wants to scream at her for being so reckless.

The talker smiles in triumph and readies his sword. He again is ready to step out of the trees and reveal himself when she moves towards the talker like nothing happened. She quickly dodges a couple of swings, then reaches for her dagger with her right hand. The talker sees this too and grabs her wrist, but she's already flipped the dagger to her left hand. Before either of them know what's happening, she's slit his throat and grips his hair in one hand. His face registers disbelief as he falls to his knees while bleeding profusely. His left hand goes to his throat but he can't stop the flow. A few moments later, she releases his hair and he drops to the ground.

"Valar Morghulis," her words are flat and without emotion. She wipes the dagger on his clothing before sheathing it, then goes to pick up Needle and repeats the action. "You can come out now, it's safe," she looks directly at him and grins before moving through the woods, presumably back to the horses.

He charges after her and grabs her left arm. She turns to face him, looking first at his hand, then his face. "It didn't work out so well for the last person that did that...," she trails off but her message is clear. He ignores the threat and moves his hands to her upper arms.

"The hell you doing?!" She looks at him as though she doesn't understand. "You want to die, is that it?" Her brows come together now but she says nothing. "You could have killed him ten times over instead of nancing about! That was dangerous and bloody stupid!" His words are loud in the stillness of the forest.

She quickly twists her body while ducking under his hands. Before he can react, she sweeps his bad leg out from under him and he lands with a heavy thud. She's standing over him with her blade to his neck like he did to her all those years ago on the cliffs. "No one is going to kill me," she says while radiating hostility, "not even with armor and a big fucking sword!" She turns and leaves him on the ground.

Her outburst leaves him stunned and he's slow to follow. She releases her horse before mounting and riding off, not bothering to wait for him. He gets back on the road shortly after and can see her ahead of him. He thinks about catching up to her but decides some time alone might help them both.

* * *

By the time he reaches the inn, she's nowhere to be found. Fuck it, he's not going to chase after her. He has some food and ale and feels the day start to catch up with him. She still hasn't appeared, so he asks about her with the owner. One room again... just bloody great.

He doesn't bother knocking this time and enters to find her in one of the two chairs by the fire. She doesn't acknowledge him so he ignores her too as he removes the heavy armor and extra layers, along with his boots. He isn't sure what to do with himself now. Part of him wants to kneel in front of her chair and pull her to him because she's alive, while the other part wants to yell at her for putting her life in danger. He goes for a compromise of sorts and sits in the chair opposite her without saying anything.

A little while later, she turns to look at him and her expression is warm but hard to read. "They're dead and I'm not," she says softly, "isn't that what matters?"

"Death is not a game, girl," he says while desperately trying to control his emotions. "You should have killed him the first chance you got. Leaving him alive and even fucking encouraging him to come after you is very risky." He goes to her then, kneeling in front of her chair like he wanted to do earlier. He puts his hands around her and pulls her to the edge of the chair. She looks at him a little shocked but doesn't protest. Even though he's kneeling, their faces are almost level. His eyes seek hers and silently beg her to listen. "You got lucky. You were outnumbered, you were knocked down, you lost your sword. Today the odds were with you, but next time they might not be."

She leans forward and presses a kiss on his face, right next to his mouth. She hugs him then, wrapping both arms around his neck. He hesitates for only a second before sliding his hands up her back to keep her close. He places a kiss at the base of her neck and enjoys her touch more than he can say. They stay that way for a few long minutes.

Much too soon she starts to lean back and he lets his arms fall away so she can move freely. He's a little disappointed, but honestly, he's not sure how much longer he can kneel this way. She stands then and holds out her hand to him. His forehead wrinkles in confusion, but he stands and lets her take his hand. She leads him across the room and stands next to the larger bed. His stomach drops and he stops moving mid-stride.

"Arya, no-," she cuts him off.

"Shh, your virtue is safe with me," she grins at him.

"Don't mock me, girl," he scowls at her but knows she's teasing.

"I'm cold and tired, but I don't want to sleep yet," she lets go of his hand and slides under the covers. She moves over to the far edge and relaxes on her side facing him. He's cold too, and also not ready to call it a night, but... god, can he really lay next to her in bed with very, very little between them?

Her expression is hopeful and trusting, so with a growl and against his better judgment, he gets into bed next to her. He stays on his back for a time but it's hard to converse that way. He ends up facing her and she smiles. His lips quirk up upon seeing that, which causes her smile to widen. He feels a warmth spread through his chest knowing she wants his company and to be near him.

He's suddenly reminded that he could have lost her today. Is it possible to lose something that isn't yours? He ignores his inner demons and says, "Where did you learn to fight like that?" Her smile fades and he's afraid he said the wrong thing. "If you don't-," he starts but she shakes her head.

"Have you ever heard of the House of Black and White or the Faceless Men?" He nods slowly, in understanding and apprehension. He knows they're an unusual group of assassins, rumored to deal in dark magic or something equally mysterious. "After Jaqen helped us escape from Harrenhal, he offered to teach me how to be like him, and give my list of names to the Many-Faced God. I wasn't ready then, so he gave me a coin and told me to give it to any man from Braavos and say 'Valar Morghulis'."

She chuckles to herself. "It sounds mad, even to me, but it's true." She leans up on an elbow. "After the Vale, I found the Saltpans and a ship that was headed to Braavos. The captain didn't want to take me at first, but after I did as I was told, he looked at me in wonder and gave me a cabin." She tries to shrug but the position really doesn't allow for it.

"Aye, girl, you are mad. Traveling with strange men to a strange land," he says lightheartedly since the danger is over. Now that the initial awkwardness has worn off, he likes how this feels. He's really comfortable with her, enjoys sees her without her mask, and is starting to feel like she really does see him as an equal.

"I must be to have stayed there after what they did to me," she says softly. "The training involved cleaning at first, a lot of beatings, watching people come for his gift and never leave, then washing the bodies afterward." Her eyes have gone dark, appearing to be looking at something far in the distance instead of him. "If I said the wrong thing, they hit me. If I didn't lie well enough, they hit me. Learning to fight was mostly to protect myself from so many blows," she exhales and her eyes come into focus. "I was finally given an assignment and I failed."

"What were you to do?" Sensing that this is hard for her, he covers the hand resting on the bed with his own.

"I had been given the name of someone to kill, along with a trade and a different look, and I would have done it...," he rubs her hand softly when she seems to get stuck. "I went there and saw 'Meryn fucking Trant' getting off a boat. He was on my list."

"For killing your dancing master," he says quietly and she nods.

"I followed him to a brothel," she hesitates when he groans.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" He releases her hand and settles onto his back again. "Get on with it," he says then but it's clear he's not angry, yet.

"He was shown a lot of women, but he wanted a girl," she swallows hard.

"Fucking cunt," he mutters and she nods slowly.

"The first night he took one and said he'd want a new one the next night," she looks at him warily when he turns his head to see her face.

"No... you? Fucking hell!" He sits up but lets her continue.

"It was my chance! I stole a face," she scrunches her face to acknowledge that this also sounds crazy, "and I was one of the three he chose. He hit us all, but I didn't scream like the other two. He sent them away and hit me in the stomach and I crouched to recover," her eyes have gone dark again and she's breathing more heavily. "I just attacked him...," he's still as he watches her relive that time, "I pulled the face off, stabbed him in the eyes, stuffed something in his mouth to dull the screams, stabbed him in the chest, and cut his throat after I told him who I was and why he was dying." She blinks and looks at him with sad eyes.

"That's what I've become. I was happy about what I'd done. I left covered in blood and went back to the House... and Jaqen took my vision for taking a face before I was ready." She sighs loudly. "I earned it back by learning to fight, after a lot more beatings, and for finally becoming No One. He gave me another assignment, but I failed again. The woman didn't deserve to die. Jaqen sent someone else to kill her, and me," she closes her eyes then and he feels for her. "I killed her too."

He scoots towards her and cautiously touches her head. He isn't sure what to do it first and leaves it there. She reaches back to release the little knot and he begins combing his fingers through her hair. Her eyes close and she looks less troubled. Arya's hair is like silk and slides through his fingers like water.

"Trant deserved it, girl. He hit your sister at least twice and refused to help her when she was about to be raped." Her eyes open at this, but she stays still otherwise. "He's nothing you should feel bad about," his fingers are still moving through her hair. Every now and then he lets one slide down her cheek and neck.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back while absorbing everything she told him. She's a lot stronger than most people know. It's not easy to have gone through all of that as a child, especially one on her own and in a strange city. He looks down at her now and sees that her eyes are closed and her breathing is deep and even.

"Girl?" No reaction. "Arya?" Still nothing. He marvels at the little warrior asleep in his bed.

He shouldn't sleep here with her, but one look over at the tiny makeshift bed, and he decides that it's safe enough. He tries to convince himself that it's really no different than laying near each other while camping. He lays down again and stays very still, not sure how he should lay and afraid to get too close. He discards that nonsense a little while later and settles in properly. He takes the time to look at her like he did this morning. After a while, he drifts off to sleep as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fight is a combination of Rorge's death 4x7, Arya vs. Brienne in 7x4 and the Littlefinger's death in 7x7.


	5. Day 5

He opens his eyes to find that it's still dark outside. There's a chill in the room despite the warmth radiating from Arya. The furs have slid to his waist during the night, so he reaches down and pulls them up to her shoulder. She's resting on her side facing him, head below his outstretched arm and close to his chest. His arm has gone numb with sleep, but he doesn't want to risk waking her to move it.

He has to resist the urge to pull her closer, to wrap an arm around her waist and hold her tight, and to rest his head on hers. He enjoys having her in bed with him much more than he should. He's never slept with a woman before since his only experiences have been at brothels. He listens to her breathing as he thinks about his life. A week ago he wouldn't have cared if he lived or died, but now...

She starts to stir as the sun rises. She's still for a few minutes, then must remember where she is, and tilts her head back to see his face. Her face brightens when she sees that he's awake too. She then squirms about until their bodies are touching and their faces are aligned. He tucks her in snugly again and leaves his arm draped over her waist. She closes her eyes briefly and sighs contentedly.

"The last thing I remember is your fingers in my hair," her eyes are soft and warm, much like her body. He nods, remembering now how he liked that too.

"I wasn't awake long after," his voice sounds a bit deeper than normal.

She's looking at him almost longingly, and he can no longer stop himself from touching her. His fingers begin slowly running up and down her back over the shirt. Before long, the shirt has ridden up and his fingers slide under it. Her breath catches and he bites his lip. Her skin is addicting and his whole hand is moving over her back now. She leans her forehead against his.

Her hand moves to rest on the right side of his face. Even as close as they are, and most of it covered by his beard, he has to fight the urge to push her away. He hates that part of himself and doesn't need her pity. Perhaps sensing his discomfort, her hand moves to the back of his neck instead, and some of the annoyance he just felt dissipates.

He should get up and put a stop to this before it goes much further. She deserves better. He's about to pull away when she suddenly moves closer and brushes her lips against his. He allows it but doesn't kiss her back. She sits up and he looks away, expecting her to get out of bed. He's caught off guard when she straddles his thighs.

"You want something?" He says guardedly and studies her face. She nods and moves a little closer, while still keeping enough distance for her to see his face.

"A kiss," she says quietly and presses her lips to his once more. His mouth doesn't respond but his hands grip her hips. She frowns at him and he shakes his head. "Why do you insist on being alone?" Her eyes are still soft and seem to plead with him not to run away this time.

"Aye, I've been alone all my life, and every person in Westeros fucking knows it. Whores are all that would have a mean, ugly dog like me." He realizes that his hands are too tight on her hips and lets go.

"I don't want to be alone either," she says quietly.

"You want me to fuck you, is that it? You want to use me like you did the smith?" His eyes have turned hard and he's angry at her for making him feel this way. He sees the hurt in her eyes and curses himself for it.

"This is not about fucking. As you pointed out, whores are everywhere. If that's all I wanted I could get it," he raises an eyebrow at that, ready to make a joke, but the look she gives him stops him cold. "I didn't plan this," she says gesturing between them, "and the timing of it couldn't be worse." He nods and rubs his forehead. "I simply want to be close to you." She looks both wistful and sincere. "I just think we both deserve a little happiness, that's all."

"I don't deserve happiness, girl. Not after the things I've done, and most people can't even stand to look at me." It comes out sounding every bit like the broken man he has become. He looks everywhere except at her.

"Brother Ray told you it wasn't too late to do good, and that's exactly what you did. You risked your life to go beyond the wall, to King's Landing, to protect Winterfell, and you saved my life." She lets out a shaky breath, and he will feel like absolute shit if she cries. "I don't even see your scars anymore, and I _never_ treated you any differently." She pauses there and the silence is strained. "People aren't afraid of your scars anyway. It's your size, your words and your eyes. _You_ scare anyone away that dares to get close to you and then blame it on your scars." She sounds annoyed and like she's made a mistake.

"Even if that were true, you're still a Stark, and I'm nothing," he says while crossing his arms and letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Do you really think I care about propriety and what people think?" She snorts and glares at him.

"Aye," his eyes bore into her. "You don't talk to me when we're riding, but you're all over me when we're alone." She rolls her eyes in response and it only fuels his irritation.

"We have to be alert when we travel, as you saw today. We can't relax until we're in chambers." While it's a logical response, he doesn't believe her.

"Whatever you say," he says dismissively and scowls at her. She puts her hands on his crossed arms and gently coaxes them to his sides. Obstacle removed, she rests her hands on his shoulders and she leans closer until he can feel her lips against his ear. He bites his lip when her hot breath reaches his neck.

"Should I let you fuck me on the table downstairs with everyone watching?" He feels her soft lips flutter against his ear as she speaks and is instantly aroused.

"Don't fucking tempt me, girl." He growls out while scowling.

"It would prove that I don't give two shits about what's good, and right, and proper to the fine people of Westeros." She presses a kiss below his ear and leans back so she can see his face.

"What are you really after?" His eyes search her face for an answer.

"A kiss," she keeps her words gentle and begins combing her fingers along his scalp.

"No," he says stubbornly.

"Why not?" She exhales noisily through pursed lips. "Oh," she says as she removes her hands and glances away. "Right. You should have said rather than making excuses." She begins to get up and he catches her around the waist.

"Arya-," he starts but has no fucking clue how to fix this. She holds up her hands in surrender and forces a smile without looking him in the eye.

"You can't help who you're attracted to, even I know that." She rests her palms on her thighs. "I'm nothing like Sansa," she says sourly. His face falls as recognition hits him. _Your pretty sister_. Fuck.

"It's not that," he says wearily and cradles her head in his hands. "I didn't even mean the things I said to you then. I wanted you to put me out of my misery," his eyes beg her to understand. "I do want you," he pulls her to him until their bodies are flush and he holds her against him. He lifts his hips and lets her feel his erection. Her eyes widen slightly and he groans. "But, I also want to do what's right," he says more softly. "Plus, whores aren't paid to kiss. I don't know how," he whispers miserably.

"I don't either. That night-," he nods at her in understanding, "was my first time, and-" his face registers surprise but she wants to get this out, "there were just a few kisses, to start...," she scrunches up her face not wanting to talk about Gendry. "My point is that we can try it together." He stares at her, mouth turned down, but considers all she's said.

"That's really all you want?" He can't believe he's even considering it. "Now?" She turns to looks out the window at the rising sun.

"We really should get on the road now, but the next time I kiss you, I want you to kiss me back and-," he swears loudly and she chuckles.

"I fucking knew it. What else do you want?" He knew there had to be a catch.

"Other times too," she says decidedly.

"What?" He narrows his eyes at her.

"You heard me," she says and smiles at him, getting off his lap and standing next to the bed.

"You're crazy. You don't know what you're asking, and you don't even know if you like it!" She rolls her eyes at him and the corners of her mouth quirk up.

"I'll take my chances," she says and starts to put on her boots.

"I won't fuck you," he says as he slides out of bed and stands next to her.

"Is that part of your code? 'I shall not fuck Arya Stark'," she says mockingly and comes close enough to rest her hands on his chest. He looks down at her and chuckles while shaking his head.

"Aye, it might be," he says with a slight grin and eyes alight with amusement.

* * *

They get a really late start and won't likely arrive at the next inn before dark. It might have to be another night outdoors but he fucking hopes not. His mind keeps going over their conversation from this morning. He doesn't know why she wants him, but he believes now that she does. It should make him happy that someone, especially the likes of her, is so determined to be close to him.

The sad thing is that he wants it just as much. Who else is going to want to kiss him? She's right too, he can't think of any time she acted like she even noticed his face. She makes him face things that he's long avoided, confess things he thought would be buried with him, and makes him see glimpses of a worthy man.

Likewise, she must have taken his comments to heart. Their journey is not silent and they talk about this and that, sometimes smiling, sometimes laughing, sometimes making him glower. He thinks she's beautiful, enjoys that she isn't offended by his language and gives it right back to him, and that she's equal parts capable and vulnerable. He hopes he doesn't disappoint her when she wants that kiss.

They don't make it to the inn that night and decide just to camp. After the necessities are out of the way, they eat and talk around the fire until very late. When it's time to sleep, they lay down on opposite sides of the fire as they usually do. He tries to sleep but keeps thinking about how it felt to have her next to him last night. He hears her toss and turn a few times and suspects she's not sleeping either.

After several minutes of internal debate, he gets up and gathers his bedding in one large hand. He positions it next to hers, furthest from the fire, and lays down on his side feeling nervous. She smiles and scoots closer almost instantly. He adjusts the covers around them and then wraps both arms around her.

"It took you long enough," she says against his chest. He chuckles at that and instantly relaxes, holding her just a little bit tighter and pressing his lips to the top of her head. "That doesn't count," she says and his mouth twitches.

"Shut up and go to sleep," he says in his typical fashion, but he hears her trying to suppress a giggle.

His heart swells and he thinks that maybe she's not wrong about wanting a little happiness.


	6. Day 6

A rhythmic breeze grazes the side of his head. One hand is grasping heated silk. He's blanketed in warmth and never wants to leave this place.

Suddenly, there's a sharp crack and rustle, like the dead chasing him through Winterfell. Why can't he see anything? His chest tightens and his heart is racing. He's frozen in place because his right leg won't budge. His face is burning, and he dreads the pain and the smell that never comes.

Why can't he feel his right arm? Panic overtakes him, his stomach knotting. Arya calls his name. He must help her. She calls out to him again, closer this time. Where is she?

Sandor awakens with a gasp. His breaths are quick and his heart is pounding wildly. The fog begins to fade and he lets out a mirthless laugh. A fucking dream. He squints in the bright sun and squeezes his eyes shut again.

"You're safe," it's almost inaudible and he wonders if it's real or part of the dream. Arya. He's grateful for her care and patience as he clears the nightmare from his mind.

Once he's free of the stupor, he reorients himself. He's on his side and her soft breaths are caressing his skin. An arm is wrapped around her waist and his hand is on the bare skin of her lower back. The arm he's laying on has gone numb and her leg is trapped between his. His face is on her chest, chin cushioned by her tits. The sun beats down on them and the leaves on the trees crinkle nearby. She's cradling his head to her and rubbing his back.

"Bloody dream," he mumbles stupidly, assuming she knows the cause of his earlier distress.

"Welcome back, Sandor," her voice is just above a whisper.

"Arm's asleep," he tries to turn his wrist and wiggle his fingers. She shifts her weight and rolls him over, unwittingly also shifting their position from one of comfort to desire. Her supple thigh settles over his growing arousal. She's laying half on top of him and his arm is low on her hips. Her tits are pressed against his chest and her hands are resting on his neck. Her eyes are gentle and half-closed.

He smooths his rough hands up and down her back, harder than yesterday. Her eyes close and her back arches. The upward movement of his hands causes her thigh to nudge his erection. He repeats this several times, enjoying the feeling and the look on her face as he does it. She opens her legs a tiny bit to push against his thigh.

Her hands grip his shirt and pull him upright. She kneels to reach him better and brings her face to his, eyes focused on his mouth. He's startled and wasn't expecting this so soon. What if she doesn't like it?

She pauses just before their lips meet and slides her hands back up his chest. He moves his arms to loosely lock around her hips. He wets his lips and feels his heart beating wildly. This is it.

She leans in and their lips meet gently. She pauses, likely seeing if he's going to stop her. When he doesn't, her lips add a little more pressure the next time and he enjoys the feeling. They kiss that way for a few minutes. His lips are firm and unyielding at first, but he pays attention to how she does it.

The next several kisses she parts her lips, kissing his bottom lip, as he kisses her top lip. It feels more intimate to him somehow. He follows her lead, lips soft, parted, pressing and retreating. She pulls back after several more kisses, lips full and pink, and the skin around her mouth rosy from his beard. Fuck, how he wants to see that on every inch of her skin.

"Okay?" She's breathless and sexy as hell.

"Gods yes," he says as he leans toward her again.

Her hands go into his hair and fingernails against his scalp. That feels so fucking good and he moans against her neck. Their lips meet again and there's another change. Her tongue peeks out to touch his lips. It's soft and wet, making him think of other places he'd like to see red from his attention. When she brings her mouth to his again, he's ready and their tongues meet. His fingers dig into her back and he rubs against her thigh. After a few more kisses, her tongue slides against his and her hands pull his hair. He can no longer resist whatever this is between them.

He kisses her with more confidence, caresses her tongue and teases her lips. His hands are kneading her hips and massaging her thighs. He stops to breathe and runs his mouth along her jaw. She tilts her head back to give him access. He continues to lick and kiss down her neck to her collarbone.

She pulls his head up roughly and urgently fits her lips to his. His mouth becomes more demanding and a breathy sigh reaches his ears. When she tugs at his bottom lip with her teeth, he throbs and needs her closer. His big hands cup her arse, lifting her to sit firmly on his lap and straddling his hips. She wraps her arms around him and nibbles at his neck. He groans and slides his hand down the back of her pants, cupping her fleshy arse, helping her to grind against him.

She freezes and he thinks he's gone too far, but she presses a finger to her lips before he can speak. Moments later, he hears it too... at least one person walking nearby. They hurriedly stand and put on their clothing and armor. It would not do to be attacked while unprotected or unarmed. Fuck, he's so hard and wants to gut whoever interrupted them. However, had things continued, he probably would have fucked and hated himself.

Two men emerge from the trees and stop walking when they see Sandor and Arya. Thankfully, they're not soldiers and just out hunting game. Arya manages to make herself look small and meek, despite the weaponry at her hip, and convinces them that she's on her way to visit her uncle, Lord Tully, at the Twins. The men don't seem to recognize Sandor's face, so she introduces him only as her sworn shield. The men nod at this but still seem wary about having them so near their home. Sandor and Arya make a show of packing up and readying the horses and the men leave. At this point, it is in their interest to do just that, should they return with more men.

As they're ready to leave, Arya cups his neck and urges him down to her level. She kisses him softly and rests her forehead against his. "Thank you, it was-," she pauses and he waits, "-just, beyond words." She scratches her fingers through his beard and he kisses her forehead. She gives him a warm smile before mounting her horse. On the road again...

* * *

 The ride thus far today was normal. Arya was talkative, friendly, more than happy to banter as they do, and seemed to be well. She became serious and quiet over the last hour, seeming to slip on that bitch mask, and nothing he tried brought her out of it. Having her change so suddenly, especially after all they've done and talked about the last few days, made him surly.

When one of the Twin castles comes into view, she asks if he minds going off the road a bit and taking a break. He shrugs and looks at the position of the sun.

"Makes no fucking difference to me, girl. We got time," he says flatly and sets off, leaving her to follow along after him. He's getting really fucking tired of this endless road. He finds a suitable spot a little way down and she lags behind. Her eyes are focused on the other side of the river as she walks right by him, finally coming to a stop a little ways away.

"The fuck you doing?" He stomps up behind her and takes in the view of the towers and the bridge. Her chest is rising and falling in rapid breaths. He tilts his head at her in question, then back at the Twins. The Red Wedding. Fucking hell. He places himself in front of her to block her view, causing her to blink and stop ignoring his presence. "Remembering the last time you were here, is that it?" His voice comes out low and what he hopes is encouraging.

"I'll never forget that day," her eyes are sad and her mouth is turned down, "but I was here since then." Her eyes dart back to the main castle as she spots a few people milling about.

"The fuck you come back here for? The Frey's are dead," he says and scowls at her until her eyes lock on his. _The Frey's are dead._ His brow furrows and his mouth turns grim. _'Joffrey, Cersei, Walder Frey...'_. Fuck. "Your list," it's not a question, but she nods anyway. "How?" She crosses her arms over her chest and he wants to take her in his arms.

"Walder had a feast with Jaime Lannister to celebrate defeating the Tully's, and I posed as a servant." He can't imagine her fitting in with Walder's ugly daughters. Then again, maybe there's so many he can't remember them all.

"Nobody recognized you?" the tone of his voice betrays his surprise. Arya looks so much like her mother and Lyanna Stark that anyone who's seen either should catch on.

"I didn't look like this," her tone suggests this should be obvious. "I killed Lothar and Black Walder first. Later on, I was alone with Walder to serve his meal," her shoulders slump. "I told him my name. I told him his last memory would be a Stark smiling down at him as he dies' and slit his throat." He would have loved to see that. "I held his head and watched him bleed out. I felt good about what I had done, murdering a helpless old man." The guilt in her voice is understandable, she is human after all, but old Walder had it coming.

"Walder Frey murdered your brother and mother, girl. He would have murdered you too," she has to understand this.

"That's not all...," she trails off, reminding him about the rest of House Frey.

"Right, the whole lot is dead. What of them?" He might feel a bit of fear toward her if she tells him that she sliced every one of their throats too, not that he'd admit it.

"Poison," she says and shrugs. "There were a lot of Freys. I had _Walder_ plan another feast to honor his men. The poison was in the wine, a fine Arbor gold the men couldn't resist," her words are almost mocking. "I gave a speech-," he interrupts.

"You?" He can't yet understand how this face business works, and belatedly feels fear for the brave and reckless girl alone in a room full of Frey men. What if her plan hadn't worked?

"Yes, with Walder's face. I said cheers to the brave men that slaughtered the Starks and watched as they drank," she swallows hard. "Leave one wolf alive, and the sheep are never safe'." A corner of his mouth quirks up imagining the looks on their faces. "After they died, I revealed myself to his wife, and told her if anyone asks what happened, to say, "'the north remembers, winter came for House Frey'." Her mouth is set in a hard, but she unfolds her arms and gazes at him.

"You did the right thing, girl. Nobody else had the balls to do it," he angles his head at her. "You feel bad about it but you're still set to kill Cersei?" His eyebrow lifts in question and a long sigh precedes her answer.

"It's what I am now. I spent years training to become an assassin, to cross the names off my list, to protect myself, and apparently kill the Night King and save the world," she scoffs at the ridiculousness of it all. "I'm a killer," she lowers her gaze and he regards her quietly. He reaches her in a few big strides and she raises her watery eyes to his.

He stoops to hug her, his arms going around her waist and hers around his neck. It's hell on his back, and he suspects it isn't enough to comfort her. His big hands find her upper thighs and pull her up. It's awkward because of his armor and her little sword, but they manage. Her legs wrap around his waist, one arm supporting her and the other on the back of her neck. Her head is turned, face resting against his neck.

"We're all killers, girl," he really is shit at giving advice. "Not all of us are as fancy about it as you," she lets out a little snort. "You protected your family. That's nothing to be ashamed of," he presses his lips to her temple and she presses hers to his neck in response.

They both jump and sharply turn their heads at the sound of someone clearing their throat nearby. That's the second time today someone could have killed them. The fuck is wrong with him. A young woman is staring at them with a hand over her mouth. Probably thinks he's trying to rape her. Big, ugly man holding a crying woman inappropriately. Fucking hell. Arya squirms to get down and he lowers her to the ground.

The woman is still staring and now Arya's eyes are glued to her too. The girl drops her hand finally and inches forward. He should probably say something, ask her what she wants, tell her to fuck off, but he's curious about how they know each other.

He first notes that she's about Arya's age but then notices many other similarities. He cocks his head and looks at her. Brown hair to her shoulders, fair skin, round face and eyes, small mouth. His brows go up and he wonders if there isn't another Stark bastard. The young woman finally speaks.

"It's you," her voice shakes. "I always wondered if we'd see you again, some days I thought we'd all imagined you." The woman moves closer and searches Arya's face. "We never got to thank you," Arya's head snaps up at this.

"Thank me? I killed your family, Kitty," her voice is thick with guilt. The woman, a Frey he presumes, shakes her head and takes Arya's hand in her own.

"You saved us. Walder was a mean and horrid man. Black Walder and Lothar were not much better," Kitty looks at Arya with awe and gratitude. "We're happy now, thanks to you. If there's ever anything we can do for you-"

"You wouldn't say that if you knew who I was, I-," before she can finish, Kitty drops her hands and wraps her arms around her. Arya's hands stay at her sides and she looks at Sandor pleadingly. He shakes his hand and shrugs just as helplessly. Kitty whispers something in her ear, and Arya's eyes blink owlishly. Kitty pulls back then and he hears Arya say her first name. Kitty nods at Arya, then lowers curtsies at him and calls him Ser, and looks at Arya again. "I'll pray for you, Arya Stark. Be safe," she wipes the tears from her eyes and heads back the way she came.

Sandor glances at Arya, who is looking quite overwhelmed. Decision made, he gets the horses, situates her in front of him like old times, and leads her horse behind them. He cradles her as best he can like this, kissing her head and rambling on like a fucking woman. He'd think she'd be happier knowing yet another reason she did the right thing. Women...

* * *

 The horse moves more slowly under their combined weight and they get to the inn well into the evening. Arya slept some of the way, and he was glad she forgot about her troubles for a time. She's been quiet since they settled in their room. He coaxed her to eat and take a bath, and she seems better for it.

He's lounging in the chair by the fire when she wanders over and sits across from him. "That Frey girl looked at you like you were a ghost. Must be one hell of a fright to see someone remove their face." She stands up and he calls himself stupid for bringing it up just as she was letting it go.

"Do you want to see?" That's not what he was expecting.

"See?" Oh. Oh. Did he? He would have said he didn't believe in magic before the witch lit everything on fire at Winterfell and aged right before his own eyes. "Aye, show me what it looks like." She gets her pack and crouches down behind the chair opposite him. "Ready?" Her voice comes a minute later, still sounding like Arya.

"Go on, girl. Get it over with," there's some movement and then he sees her start to stand up. When Walder Frey's face comes into view, his jaw drops open and his eyes go wide, and he almost trips trying to escape from the chair. Arya chuckles and it's deep and raspy. He stands his ground as she comes closer, eyes searching to understand how this is possible.

"Proper wine, for proper heroes!" she pretends to toast the group. "Leave one wolf alive, and the sheep are never safe," her mouth curls into a nasty grin. He gathers his courage to touch her cheek.

"Seven hells," he mutters as his fingers poke and pinch at her face. He can't tell any difference between it and normal skin.

"Kiss me, Sandor," she barely gets out before laughing, trying to put her hand on his face. He scowls and backs up.

"Fuck off, old man," he can't help but crack a smile. "Take it off," he's had enough of that. She casually reaches up and pulls it off. He looks at it and shakes his head. "Very effective and I never want to see you do that again," now that he isn't joking about. She puts it back and returns to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. He runs his fingers through her loose hair. "Tired?" She nods her head against him and he scoops her up and carries her to bed.

"Thank you, kind _Ser_ ," he glowers and she giggles. He smacks her arse playfully as she crawls under the covers. They settle in like they've been doing this for years. She puts her hand on his neck and lifts up to kiss him. He kisses her back several times before she sighs happily and snuggles into him. He holds her tight and rests his cheek on her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have taken some liberties with Kitty as the show never says what happens to the Frey girls. Since Edmure Tully is the Lord there now, and was married to Roslin Frey, it's definitely possible that Kitty still lives there. I also don't know how close the Kingsroad is to the Twins, though the two do run parallel on the map. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone that has given positive feedback and kudos. To answer some of the questions, I hope to update 2-3 times a week until this is finished. I have a few other stories planned too, all Sandor... I just love him ♥


	7. Day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for sexual content

It is early in the afternoon as Sandor catches sight of heavy, dark clouds creeping towards them. The rain won't hold off until they reach the inn. He'd bet on it. They may have to settle for a stable or abandoned house until it passes. The day has been fairly cool and the rain will not help with that when they get wet. Arya glances up to see what he sees and groans loudly.

"You think we'll make it?" She peers up at him with a hopeful expression until he shakes his head.

"Don't think so, girl," he huffs out a breath and is none too happy about it either. "Those clouds are moving faster than we are, and we've got a few hours to go before the inn," he gives her a shrug and urges his horse to go faster. She follows his lead and keeps pace with him.

"We don't often see rain. Why do you think that is?" He glances over at her and realizes she's not kidding.

"How the fuck should I know?" He barks back at her, his face hardened in concentration.

"If there is some _horned fucker_ that brings the rain, like the Night King brought snow, then his eyes better be red or purple so it's not my duty," her lips quirk and she winks at him.

"Would you shut up and just ride?" He growls out and keeps his eyes ahead of him.

"'You never talk to me when we ride'," she says in a deep voice, trying to sound like him. He narrows his eyes at her and can't tell if she's simply mocking him or truly upset.

"I was wrong. I like you better as a mute," his tone stiff and surly.

"That's a lie. What's your problem anyway? Is big, bad Sandor afraid to get wet?" He gives her his best 'fuck off glare' only to see her smirk at him.

"No, I'm not afraid of the fucking rain, wolf-girl. Doesn't mean I want to spend the night cold and wet, or surrounded by horseshit." He looks to the sky again, not in prayer or with any hope, just resigned.

"If it's _horseshit_ you hate, maybe we can find one with dogs or another animal?" He gives her a murderous glare and hears her laughter as she gallops ahead of him.

* * *

Not only did the rain not wait, but it's also the worst downpour he's seen in quite a long time. They made it to about an hour out from the inn before it started getting too bad to continue safely. If he'd been alone, he probably would have continued on, but he wanted to spare her.

"Just my fucking luck," he mutters while nestled in a hay pile in someone's stable. Arya is leaning against him and he's wrapped an arm around her though it's not giving either of them much comfort. The rain is loudly pelting the roof and the ground around them. The animals are agitated and also adding to his annoyance.

"At least we're out of the rain now," Arya's teeth are chattering and she shivers. He rubs his hand down her arm and back trying to help with the cold. They stay that way for what feels like an eternity, both freezing and annoyed, longing for a warm fire and dry clothes. He now considers that they maybe should have carried on to the inn. They'd look like drowned dogs when they got there, but they'd be fed and warm by now.

He feels her shiver again and lifts her sideways in his lap. She snuggles into his chest immediately and draws her knees up. Sandor wraps both arms around her and tries to offer what little body heat he has left. After a few minutes and no improvement, he knows of only one thing that might help.

"This isn't working. Stand up," he says as he releases her. He moves over by the stall door with his back to her. "Take everything off and wring the water out as best you can, then put it back on." He hears movement followed by cursing as she fights her way out of wet clothes, then water being squeezed out and thudding softly on the ground.

It's a struggle to not peek with her naked behind him and just a couple steps away. He's wondered what she looks like under her boyish clothes the last few days. He would guess she has more scars, from all of the training in Braavos if not other causes. A couple of times he's thought about the color of her nipples and if she'd like his mouth on them. He scolds himself for thinking of such things now.

He removes his armor to distract himself, then wrings out his own shirts as she finishes her clothes. "I'm done," she says and he turns. She's tossing the wet hay to the corner before sitting back down. He puts his shirt on and removes his boots. He steps in front of the stall partition to wrestle with his own pants. He hears her sigh as he's hidden from view and his mouth curves into a smile.

Task complete, he returns to her side and they get as close as possible. Their legs tangle while his arms go around her, and hers on his chest between them. His face in her neck and hers against his cheek. It's still damn cold, but without as much water in their clothes, they're slightly better off.

A while later, the rain begins to subside. He lets her go and she startles him with a lingering kiss before she gets up. They wearily retrieve their horses from the stall and get back on the road. The ride, even though it's only an hour, is miserable. They're still damp, the horses are wet, and the air is extremely cold against their shivering bodies. He fucking hopes he lives long enough to see King's Landing.

* * *

They get a room at the inn, no longer a question if they need one room or two. Arya and Sandor sit at a table eagerly eating and getting their fill of ale. With the urge to beat the storm, they hadn't stopped to eat or drink midday. He's exhausted and cold to the bones. He ordered a bath when they arrived, so it should be warming up now.

The door opens and he instinctively turns to see what threat, if any, the visitor might pose to them. Seeing a couple of whores he turns back. He notices that Arya's eyes follow the women as they make their way through the room. When they stop at a table of soldiers in the corner, Arya openly regards them.

His brow furrows and he leans in to whisper, "See something you like, girl?" Her head snaps back and she gives him an odd look. He would consider that she liked women if not for their kisses.

"Do you?" She doesn't sound accusing, only curious.

"A whore's a whore, they all have cunts," he says crudely and shrugs.

"Oh, come on, you really wouldn't pick one over the other?" Her words are weary yet lighthearted.

"Why do you care?" He levels a stare at her, brows snapped together.

"Can't you ever answer a simple question?" She's irritated now, eyes blazing. "I find it hard to believe that you like all of them equally." She folds her arms across her chest.

"Bloody hell. Fine," he sets his cup down and leans toward her, scanning the whores. He lingers over their bodies as her eyes watch him. They're both average looking, past marrying age, tired eyes, and wearing threadbare dresses. "The left one," he says finally. Arya glances back at them before turning back to look at him.

"Why her?" She tilts her head and waits for his answer.

"Longer hair, bigger tits," he says and drinks more ale.

"That's it?" Her eyes searching his as if he might be lying.

"What do you want me to say, girl? I'm not picky," he finishes his drink. "Best go get warmed up. I'll be up in a while." She's biting her lip, clearly holding something back, but doesn't argue for once and leaves the room. One of the whores tries to approach him shortly after, but he scares her off.

Arya's ruined him for whores and he hasn't even bedded her. How different it is to have a woman in his arms that wants to be there. Feeling her hold him, grabbing at him, practically begging him to kiss her, to feel her rubbing against him and not just laying there like a dead fish. He could never go back to whores after how she makes him feel. Not that it matters of course... he may be dead next week.

* * *

 

He finds her by the fire when he returns, looking sleepy or maybe bored. She's laying on the rug with her head on a pillow. He considers joining her but really wants to bathe first. He sees that her clothes are draped and drying already, and figures he ought to do his too.

"I'm having a bath," he says and starts to remove his weapons, armor, and boots. He isn't shy, but after what's happened between them this week, taking his cock out around her could be dangerous. He'd kill for a few minutes alone with said cock. He could use a release but won't do that with her in the room.

"Alright," she says without looking up and rolls to face the fire.

He finds the water tepid and quickly scrubs himself clean, no longer wanting to linger. After his bath, he gives his clothes a good washing while letting his naked body dry in the air. The small room is warm from the steady fire. He feels a little warmer after getting dressed, but not enough. He goes over to where Arya is sprawled out.

She's laying sideways on the rug so he sits opposite the fireplace. She rolls to her back to look up at him and he cups her cheek. She turns her head to kiss his hand and lean into it. He lazily rubs his thumb on her cheek. Her skin is overheated but she looks content.

"The fire is putting me to sleep," her eyes are soft and her whole body looks relaxed. "It might be another early night," she says and he bobs his head agreeing that he's tired too.

"By the way, what did you think of your first kiss?" She tries to look innocent as if she doesn't know exactly how much he enjoyed it. She had rubbed herself against his cock for fuck's sake. Even through their clothes, there's no way she doesn't know he liked it.

"You know damn well what I thought," he moves his hand from her cheek to brush his thumb across her lips. She kisses his thumb and he wants to groan. Why is he so fucking aroused at seeing her pursed lips cushioning his thumb?

"Once is definitely not enough to know what something is like," she says quietly. "My first kiss was nothing like my first kiss with you," she says almost like a sigh. "It wasn't even close," she gives him a weak smile. While the man in him is feeling victorious for being better than Gendy, he's also jealous that anyone else has touched her. "It leads me to wonder what else was lacking," he hesitantly nods, uncertain where she's going with this.

"How'd that happen anyway?" Before this little adventure, he would have figured Gendry talked her into it. But now, seeing how she is when she wants something, he's not so sure. She sighs and folds her arms across her head to hide her face. Her movement causes her shirt to ride up and her tits to lift and press against her thin shirt.

He imagines himself on top of her and holding her hands above her head. Her legs high on his hips so she's open to him and he can move as he likes. He'd take her slow and deep, wanting to prolong her pleasure and stay inside her as she writhes beneath him. He'd love to lift her shirt up cup her tits. He'd lick and suck and nibble for hours if it's something she enjoys.

"Most of us thought we wouldn't make it. I wanted to know what it was like before I died," she's still covering her eyes. "He went looking for me to give me my weapon. We talked a bit, then I told him I wanted to know what it was like and kissed him." She half-shrugs and still can't look at him.

"You regret it then?" He's quite proud of himself for carrying on a conversation while undressing her with his eyes.

"I got what I wanted I suppose, though I'm not sure I'd be any worse off not knowing," her tone is flat and he doesn't understand.

"You didn't like it?" He's surprised given that Gendry seems eager to please her. He's even more surprised when she removes her hand and the look on her face is one of confusion.

"I-," she struggles for the right words, "didn't expect to like it?" She tilts her head and looks at him curiously. "Isn't it mostly for the man's pleasure? Aside from making babies?" He snorts and starts to smile when he realizes that she's serious. _Bloody hell_.

"For fuck's sake. You mean to tell me the git didn't make sure you finished? What a selfish bastard." She shakes her head uncertainly and he sighs. "Aye, a man can make it good for a woman too," he can't believe he has to teach her this. Don't mothers or septas teach this shit? He supposes with her mother dying before she flowered and her sister having been raped, that maybe she just never had that talk with anyone.

"What does he have to do?" She sounds both confused and intrigued.

"It's not that easy to explain," he lifts his shoulder in a half shrug while thinking of a way to answer her. "You ever touched yourself?" A girl can't reach adulthood without knowing at least that much, right? Her skin looks pink but he can't be sure if it's from their conversation or the fire.

"Once or twice. I didn't know what to do and it wasn't anything special." She's quiet, maybe remembering how she felt those times, he can't be sure. "I should have gone with my gut."

"What do you mean?" His forehead creases as he studies her face.

"I looked all over for you that night. When I found you on the battlements, I was nervous and just sat next to you. I had some of your wine to calm down, but Beric came... I gave up on the idea and went to shoot arrows. Gendry wasn't planned." She scrunches up her face and looks away.

"You wanted me to... _show you_... out of all the people at Winterfell that night?" His eyes widened and his mouth is probably hanging open, which would account for him practically stuttering a moment ago. She could have had anyone of nearly twenty-thousand men. What does she want with a 'miserable, old shit'?

"Yes, is that so hard to believe? I guess it doesn't matter since you would have said no." There's no sadness or anger in her words, just acceptance. "Did you have anyone that night?" Her tone is casual, but her eyes say she cares to know... and might possibly murder whoever touched him. It gives him an odd feeling in his stomach to think she might be jealous.

"No. There hasn't been anyone in a long time," he says in a calm, unhurried voice, and she rolls to her side facing him.

"Nothing you wanted to try or do again?" He chuckles in spite of himself.

"Aye, but it wasn't important. It's not like women are lining up to warm my bed. Are you still cold?" He wills the anger out of his voice but doesn't like talking about bedding whores with her.

"No, I'm warm now. Tell me," Arya's probably one of the most stubborn people he's ever met. She's also very disarming and always finds a way to soften him.

"Then we can get off this hard fucking floor?" He grimaces and stretches his legs. They might as well be camping if they're going to lay on the fur down here. He looks longingly at the comfortable looking bed.

"Yes," he turns back and sees her nodding.

"To kiss a woman," he slowly reaches out a hand and places it lightly between her legs, "here." His voice is deeper now and his eyes linger on his hand. She's quite warm there too and he can't help but notice that his hand is larger than that little triangle between her legs. He slides his hand up to her waist before he pulls his hand away.

"I-," she hesitates and seems to be recalling something, "-saw that once, while waiting for Trant at the brothel... except a woman was doing the kissing," she seems curious instead of appalled.

"A tongue's a tongue," he says deadpan. "Let's lay in bed?" She shrugs and he helps her up. He might be watching her arse wiggle in front of him as they go towards the bed. He imagines her naked arse and wonders how the fuck he's going to get through the night.

Arya crawls into bed... and that's another thing he'd love to see with her naked. He lays on his back and she snuggles up to his side. His hand finds the skin of her back almost instantly. He wonders if the skin on her thighs is just as soft or even softer. He imagines kissing her stomach on his way down, and how her hands might hold his head to her as she quivers.

"I'd never guess that my back would be your favorite place to touch," she's amused and he can't help but laugh.

"It's not, trust me, but it's safer than others." Her hand finds his lower stomach under his shirt and he tenses. "What are you doing?" She's so close to his cock and it's begging for her attention. That shouldn't happen but a man can dream.

"Seeing if I like your skin as much as you like mine," she trails her hand up to his chest, his shirt not moving much given their position. She sits up to kneeling and grasps the bottom of his shirt to remove it. She quirks an eyebrow at him when he doesn't cooperate. "This is _safe_ skin according to you. Off," she demands and resumes tugging at it. This time he sits up and raises his arms so it comes off easily. She moves to kneel between his spread legs and runs a hand down his hairy chest to his stomach.

"Did you just pet me?" She giggles at the humor in his voice and moves her eyes from his chest to his face. She inches closer and combs her fingers through his chest hair with more pressure than before. His eyes close and he likes that more than he thought he would. She repeats it and seems to like the feel of it. He feels her hands on his outer thighs and opens his eyes, curious to see what she's up to now.

She moves a knee outside his and urges him to close his legs. She straddles his lap and he rests her arms loosely around her. She kisses him on the neck as her hands begin rubbing his back. He leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder so she can reach more. Her hands are warm and not as soft as her back.

As her nails drag gently down his back, he grips her to him unintentionally. He licks his lips as she is pressed against his arousal. She rocks her hips once, then again a bit harder, then straightens up to look at him.

"I see the appeal," her words are breathy and low. He kisses her then, only managing a few closed mouth kisses before his tongue seeks hers. Their kisses are eager and demanding, having gone most of the day without. He wouldn't have thought kissing could be so arousing and intimate. He's very glad his stubborn little wolf insisted.

His hands pull her closer and knead her pant-covered thighs and arse. She grips his shoulders and rubs against him. He wonders if she's wet for him. There are gasps and moans and groans as their hips move to press against each other.

With a growl, his large hand covers her arse to hold her to him as he surges forward, pressing her underneath him on the bed. She bends her knees and cradles his hips right away. He takes her hands and holds them to the bed above her head like he's been fantasizing about so often. Her back arches and her tits lift towards his mouth. He presses his face to her chest, at war with what he wants to do yet knows he shouldn't. He nuzzles her softness through her shirt and she pushes her hips into him.

"Keep them there," he orders as he lets go of her hands. He lifts up the front of her shirt to expose her tits. He stares at her perfect skin and rosy nipples like it's the first time he's seen a woman naked. He desperately wants to cup them, squeeze them, kiss and lick and suck... He has to keep reminding himself that he can't fuck her.

His hands lightly cup her tits. He feels their weight and watches how they move when he pushes them up. He imagines how they would move if he fucked her hard in this position. Her nipples are hard and he rubs them with his thumbs.

He returns his hands to hers and his hairy chest makes contact with her tits and stomach. He rubs himself against her and she gasps and wraps her legs around his waist. He moans then and his hands move to her hips as he grinds himself against her. He kisses her neck and collarbone.

His lips find hers then and he feels her nails on his back and scalp. She whispers his name and he wants to hear her scream it. He knows this is getting out of control, but it feels too damn good to stop. All he can think about is getting the rest of the clothes out of the way and fucking her. Ugh, if he doesn't stop now, he's going to release in his pants.

He pulls back and she leans up to try to stay connected to his lips. Her shirt falls back to cover her chest and he can see her hard nipples through the shirt. He's kneeling between her legs and breathing hard. She lays back, chest heaving, and eyes dark with need. She runs her hands up her body, across her breasts, and back above her head.

"Touch me, Sandor," she says breathlessly, almost breaking what little resolve he has left. He shakes his head and has to clench his jaw to keep himself still. "Then tell me how, I need-," she tries to close her legs to add pressure between them but he's in the way. He moves to kneel next to her, his body also begging for relief, but he will have to fight to keep himself under control. For her.

"Slide your hand under your pants," his voice is strained and deep as he watches her small hand where his was earlier. "Press your palm against your mound and rub," he sees the deliberate movement through her pants. Her eyes close as her hand keeps moving. "Use your fingers to open yourself," he finds it funny that when it's time to be crude and tell her to fuck her cunt with her fingers, he's trying extra hard to be delicate for her. "Run your finger up and down there," he rubs himself through his pants.

"Do you know where your sensitive bit is?" He asks in almost a growl.

"Yes," she's breathless and looks at him. Her eyes move down to where he's rubbing himself and she bites her lip, which makes him rub harder and swear.

"Rub it in circles," he watches as she does that while holding eye contact.

"Does it feel good?" She's squirming but not lost in the moment or increasing in urgency.

"A little. This is how it was before, good but not...," she trails off not knowing exactly what's missing.

"Give me that hand," he says tensely. Her eyebrows draw together but she complies. He grasps her wrist and brings her hand to his mouth. He draws her middle finger into his mouth and wets it. "Try now," he says and lets go of her, still tasting her on his tongue.

Her reaction is immediate. She gasps and squeezes her eyes shut. She bends her legs and tries to spread them wider. Her hand is moving faster now and she's writhing on the bed. His hand moves inside his pants, and while there isn't enough room to stroke himself fully, it does feel better. Arya's watching him now, eyes full of lust.

"Follow that spot down and slide your finger inside," his voice is deep and strained. She arches her back and her moans. "Good, now back to the spot, then inside, just keep going," he's panting now from arousal and restraint. He's mesmerized by her squirming, arching, squeezing her legs closed, then trying to open them wider than the pants will allow.

Her motions are becoming desperate and unsatisfied. He removes his hand from his pants and grips his fingers in the waist of hers. "Alright if these come off?" She lifts her hips and nods quickly in answer to his question. He pushes her pants down her legs until she can kick them off the rest of the way.

"Go on," he says when he notices she has stopped. His eyes roam over her slender legs to her shapely and inviting thighs. Her hand is mostly blocking his view between her legs. He touches himself as he watches her try everything he's taught her but she is still not getting there. He, on the other hand, would probably let go after a few good strokes. Her hand begins to slow, chest and stomach heaving, eyes open and wanting. _Fuck_.

"I can't, I don't know what else to do," her knees are bent and leaning into each other. She's flushed and her skin is glowing in the firelight. Now what? Touch her? Kiss her there? "Show me, Sandor," she says finally, but he needs to know exactly what she's asking for here.

"Tell me what you want," he continues to touch himself as he waits for her answer.

"Touch me," she begs. Resigned, he lays down on his side and wraps her arm under her waist. He kisses her gently before guiding her to her side with her back to him. He grasps her leg and pulls it over his hip, opening her for his hand and hears her gasp. Whether that's due to the position or their naked bodies pressing together, he can't be sure.

He kisses and licks at her neck before wetting his own finger and sliding his hand between her legs. He gently drags his finger between her soft folds a few times, then massages her little spot. She gasps and leans her head back against his shoulder. He slides his finger down like he taught her and eases it inside her. She groans and pushes her hips into him.

"Like this," he says against her ear.

"Yes, just like that," she's practically panting now.

He slides his finger out slowly, up to her spot, then in again and again. He loves how warm and wet she is around his finger. The ache in his groin is impossible to ignore. He removes his hand to quickly shove his pants to his knees. He returns his hand between her legs, finger sliding inside, and closes his eyes as her arse rubs against his bare cock.

He moves his finger faster and she starts moving her hips back and forth wanting more. Since his cock is between them, she's effectively stroking it with each thrust of her hips. He slides his other hand up to cup her tit and play with her nipple. He uses his thumb to stroke her spot as his finger remains insider her. She opens her legs even wider, yearning for something just out of reach.

The change in positioning makes his cock move from between their bodies to between her legs. He removes his hand and she whines. He shushes her softly and uses his hands to rotate her hips forward. Ever so cautiously, he slides his cock along her wet folds. They both moan and he can feel his body trembling to stay in control.

Arya leans forward a little more and arches her back to still rest her head on his shoulder. He pulls his hips back and pushes against her again. This time he slides between her folds and the head of his cock presses against her spot. He pushes slowly that way a few more times before needing more. He takes the back of her thigh in one hand and wraps the other across both breasts.

He begins moving his hips faster while rubbing his cock between her folds, feeling her wetness, making her gasp as he touches her spot. He slips at one point and is afraid he hurt her. Her hand moves between her legs and touches the underside of his cock. He starts thrusting again and her hand helps guide him.

He moves his mouth to her ear, unable to last much longer. He nibbles her ear and her neck, then nuzzles and licks her neck and shoulder. Teeth gritted, he tells her how warm and wet she is, how he wants to be inside her, and how he'd love to bury his face between her legs and lick her for hours. He increases the speed and pressure of his movements.

Finally, she begins to tremble and says his name while her head tips back and her lips part. He watches her face as she comes undone on him. He feels throbbing but can't be sure if it's her muscles or his cock. She reaches down then and rubs along his length and he begins moving again. His eyes close now and his movements become fast and jerky as he gets closer to release.

"Arya, fuck," those are about the only two words in his head right now.

He grasps her hips and helps her rock against him. Unable to hold off any longer, he growls and bucks against her as he explodes. He keeps rubbing against her slowly to prolong it. Her chest is heaving and he kisses her neck. He's still breathless when she untangles and turns to face him.

She looks at him then, eyes half-lidded and adoring, gentle smile, hair mussed. She leans down and kisses him softly. He holds her tight and wants to savor the moment. A short time later, he hears her yawn and kisses her temple. He helps her get under the furs and lays next to her. She snuggles close sighs happily.

He's awake long after she drifts off to sleep. He holds her in his arms and images of her keep flashing in his head. The way her eyes looked at him full of want and desire. The way her hands held him clinging and urging him closer. The way she moved against him, hungry for him, of her own free will. The way she said his name as she peaked.

This brave and beautiful girl could have anyone, but she chose him. Him. _Sandor fucking Clegane_. A dog, a coward, a nobody. Formerly, he reminds himself. He was already on the road to redemption, but Arya makes him feel like a man. Somebody worthy of love. Someone she chose to spend time with, to trust with her body, to share her bed. He can honestly say he's never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter still sounds like Sandor. It should probably be more vulgar coming from him, but I don't even swear normally :P
> 
> To clarify about the ending - my story is set after episode 4 and before episode 5. The events that take place in episode 5 to Arya and Sandor will be the same here, noted only by an epilogue from Arya's POV. 
> 
> However, after I complete a couple short Sandor stories (likely 1-3 chapters each), I intend to write a sequel to Loose Ends in which Arya finds a way to bring Sandor back... with consequences.
> 
> Thank you for the support and nice comments :)


	8. Day 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for sexual content

A few hours into today's planned trek, Sandor and his 'traveling companion' become somber. The Kingsroad leads them past the Riverlands and The Vale, which hold many unpleasant memories of their last days together. Arya has been more withdrawn today as it is, and now this awful area. Initially, he worried that she was upset about what happened last night, but she has welcomed and even encouraged his touch today. She seems more woolgathering than upset, so he lets her be for now.

His mind wanders to the morning as they ride. He had woken up to find her asleep on his chest. It reminded him just how small she was in comparison. She was laying on her stomach directly on top of him. Her head curving down his shoulder to the bed, and her legs splayed just above his groin. While he found it quite cute, it did not go unnoticed that she was wearing only a shirt and he was completely naked. He had to think about rotten things to keep himself from reacting to her soft skin and their positioning.

When she woke up, she had kissed his shoulder and absently rubbed her hand through his chest hair. He anchored her to him by curling an arm across her body with his fingers curling down her side. He had kissed the top of her head and then the tender moment was broken by the loud growl of his stomach. They had shared a quiet chuckle. She had raised up to see his face, hair falling down around them, and they kissed deeply before separating and getting ready for the day.

He glances over at her now to find her expression a little more serious. No doubt she has realized where they are also. As they ride along in silence, Sandor lets his memories of this place resurface. The Mountains of the Moon had been the beginning of the end for them. Killing Poliver in the tavern had been a victory for Arya, but killing Lannister men had put a hefty price on his head. It was all downhill from there.

He had robbed the farmer near Fairmarket after he showed them kindness and made Arya truly hate him. He then hit her after mocking her water dancing and provoking her to anger on the riverbank. He was bitten because of the bounty, and because of his fear of fire, he didn't tend to it properly. They arrived at the Eyrie only to find the aunt died recently. Then Brienne of fucking Tarth came along and nearly beat him to death in the Vale. When Arya left him bleeding and broken, he was in agony and had never felt so desolate.

All of those feelings come rushing back to him now. He had been so stupid before to blindly drag her all over Westeros, completely focused on one goal, while ignoring that she had started to grow on him. He's doing the same damn thing now. They're together for a fortnight, intending to carry out dangerous missions, and may never see each other after that. Is he really going to waste what little time may be left and not show her how he feels?

He suddenly stops his horse and gets off. Her horse abruptly halts several feet away when she notices his odd behavior. He sees her scanning the area for a threat as he lumbers over to her, trailing his horse behind him. He leads the horses into the trees and secures them when they're hidden enough to not be seen from the road.

"Sandor? Wha-," her voice is quiet and uncertain and he shushes her softly.

His hands reach for her waist to help her off he horse. She doesn't fight him, though her brow is puckered and her eyes are searching his for an answer. He removes her belt and drops it to the ground, Needle included. He unlaces her leather tunic and lets it fall off her arms. Her breaths quicken and his own chest is rising and falling with rapid breaths. He removes his armor with trembling hands and starts on his shirts.

"Naked. Now," he's consumed with desire and the need to possess her. She willingly unlaces her shirt and tosses it aside. It's barely hit the ground when she starts on the pants and pushes them over her hips. Arya's eyes boldly watch him loosen his pants as his eyes linger on her bare tits. Once they're fully exposed, he strides toward her and easily picks her up.

He doesn't stop moving until she's pressed to a tree. Her legs wrap around him and his cock nudges against the soft hair between her legs. "Careful, girl," he says low and husky. He grabs her arse in both hands and adjusts them so that his cock is settled between their bodies. He pays close attention to her face to see if there's any hesitation or to learn what she likes.

"Sandor," she whispers as he firmly thrusts against her. His hand follows the curve of her arse down between her legs. He finds her with his fingertip and she bites his shoulder when his fingertip starts circling and dipping into her. Her hands clutch his shoulders as she leans into his hand, clearly wanting more than just the tip of his finger. "Oh," she begs breathlessly, "please." He's barely hanging on, the need to take her too strong.

"Arya," he pants into her neck, "I'm losing the battle." Her hands slide into his hair and raises his face to hers.

"I want you, Sandor Clegane," she says as she steals a kiss and explores his mouth before sliding her mouth down to nip at his neck.

"Fuck," he mutters before he pulls her from the tree and lays her down on their small pile of clothing. She yelps and moves their weapons away from the pile as he lowers his body to hers. She bends her knees and he can feel her inner thighs cradling his hips. He kisses her mouth roughly before pulling away and kneeling between her legs.

"Sandor-," her voice is pleading and she props herself up on her elbows. His eyes are focused on her wet folds as he grips his cock.

"I want to fuck you," he says miserably because he's failed her. "Tell me no," he gives her an imploring look.

"I want you," she repeats instead and he takes a deep breath.

"Arya," he says desperately as he moves closer, his legs nudging her thighs. He slides an arm under her hips and lifts them from the ground.

"Yes," escapes her lips as his fingertips make sure she's ready.

"Tell me to stop," he tries one last time, searching her eyes for any hesitation. She writhes against him, needy and aroused, wanting him inside her. Code be damned. He can't continue to resist these increasingly intimate positions. A one-sided preservation effort was doomed from the start. Arya clearly wants him, whether or not she should. He gives in and gives her what she wants. What he wants. Needs.

Cock still in hand, he rubs it between her folds before pushing just the tip inside her. He holds still and looks at where they're now connected. He's never been able to take his time with a whore. Although every instinct in him says to take Arya hard and fast as she clings to him, he wants to make it last. Some of the blinding need he felt has turned into a dull ache now that they're intimately joined.

He pulls out and rubs his wet cock against her sensitive spot then barely enters her again. She gasps and wiggles to feel more of him so he holds her tighter. The last thing he wants is to hurt her. He doesn't know if his cock is bigger than most. What he does know is that he's a very large man and she's a very small woman. All but the smallest of cocks might hurt.

He slides out and lowers her hips then moves over her and rests his weight on his elbows. Her legs are against his sides as he reaches down to position himself. He slides in just barely like before and it's somehow an even better feeling laying on top of her. He moves his hips in slow, shallow movements letting just the end of his cock feel her. She's making the sexiest noises and her warmth is trying to pull him in deeper.

He pushes a little further in and watches her face for any sign of discomfort and doesn't see any. He stops holding back and she's warm and slick as he sinks into her completely.

"Mmm, yes," Arya moans and grips his back. He pulls out some and then fills her again, watching her face. He delves deeply inside her again, overwhelmed by the intensity.

"Okay?" He has to know it's good for her too, but words are too difficult to manage right now. She nods her head vigorously and wraps her legs around his waist. Finally free from restraints, he begins rocking his hips, fucking her slow and deep. His name leaves her lips as a breathy sigh. He kisses her neck, nuzzles her tits, and licks her nipples. Arya surges against him when his beard rakes across the sensitive skin of her chest. He does everything he can with his hands and mouth to drive her wild as he continues rocking into her steadily.

As he gets closer to release, it gets harder to be slow and gentle. He wraps one arm under her shoulders and the other under her hips. Instead of deep, grinding motions, he begins thrusting quickly. He wants her to feel every bit of him sliding in and out of her body. She squirms and drops her legs from his waist to rest her feet on the ground.

Arya starts to lift her hips in time with him and he rubs against her front more. She's so wet and the delicious sounds of sex fill the air. He looks down to where they're joined and runs his thumb over her plump, pink spot. He hears her breath hitch as her hips strain even harder. He does it again and again until he feels her stiffen and her walls pulsing around him. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He pumps into her as fast as he can and holds her as close as possible. Finally, he pulses inside her and groans long and loud, emptying himself in her body.

They're both breathing heavily and tangled on the ground. He's sweaty and dirty and probably squishing her. He sits up, taking her with him, and holds her tight. He feels her shudder as his softening cock leaves her sensitive flesh. He kisses her forehead gently before moving to look at her. She gives him a slow and sexy smile and he reaches up to touch her tousled hair. He kisses her lips softly for what feels like a long time.

Finally, knowing they can't sit there naked all day, they separate, get dressed, and return to the road. About an hour in, he notices her trying to hide her discomfort. They end up riding slowly to their next destination, with her sitting sideways and cuddled into his chest.

* * *

Once they reach the stopping point for the evening, he takes care of the room and ordering a bath. They eat and enjoy each other's company, though they're both seemingly lost in thought. They go to the room together and he undresses her as she undresses him. Their movements are not urgent or sexual, but caring. He leans against the tub and she lays on his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. He rubs her back as they let the warm water surround them.

"Do you regret it?" Her voice is quiet and uncertain.

"No," he says honestly. "Do you?" He holds his breath and hopes that he didn't misread things between them. She smiles and pulls his forehead down to hers.

"Never," she says and kisses him sweetly before shifting in the tub so her legs are around his waist. "You have a magical cock," she says seriously but then laughs at the look on his face. He's shocked by her audacity but proud that he made her feel that good.

"Shhhh, it'll hear you," he says playfully and laughs. He loves her uninhibited laughter.

"Well," she whispers conspiratorially, "while it's napping, why don't you tell me what came over it today?" He nods and takes a moment to try to put it into words. Likely sensing not to pressure him, she gently washes them as they relax in the tub.

"You noticed where we were today? The Riverlands and the Vale?" She nods and he continues, "The memories and the feelings started coming back to me." He pauses and exhales while she soothingly rubs her hands on his skin. "I was alone with all the guilt and pain in the end," he says quietly and she wraps her arms around him. "I realized I was being an idiot now too by wasting time by holding back," he pauses because he feels himself getting choked up. Seven buggering hells. What the hell was she doing to him? He clutches her to him so she can't see his face as he gets this out. "I came to care for you back then, in my own screwed up way, though I was shit at showing it," she's quietly rubbing his back. "To know you hated me and wanted me dead, even left me to suffer and rot, well...," she starts to speak and he shakes his head. "After, with Brother Ray, I came to realize how much I wanted your forgiveness, affection, and to see that I'd changed." To lighten the mood a little he adds, "I didn't know then that I also wanted your new grown-up body." He chuckles as she playfully swats him. "When I saw Brienne in King's Landing and she told me you were alive and at Winterfell, I just had to see you, and maybe redeem myself." He squeezes her close and kisses her temple. She leans back and takes his face in her hands.

"I was a child," she raises her eyebrow when it looks like he's going to speak. "A child of the _honorable_ Ned Stark and I lived in a world that was very much black and white. A world where bad people did bad things. A world where doing bad things made you a bad person. You were right in that I didn't understand the way things are," she strokes his bearded cheeks softly. "I came to see the shades of gray as I spent the next couple years on my own. You protected me many times and you tried to teach me to look after myself." She kisses him again before continuing. "When I returned to Winterfell, Sansa and I shared some of what we'd been through. She told me you tried to teach her too, protecting her when you could and offering to take her home," her eyes become wet. "Even young, ignorant Sansa knew your bark was worse than your bite," she smiles at him and shivers a bit.

They leave the cooling water in favor of dry linens and sit together by the warm fire. She's between his spread legs with her back reclining on his chest. "I stopped hating you and removed you from my list a long time ago," her words are soft in the stillness of the night. "It was about when you told me about your brother, and I helped take care of you. I kept pestering you to clean it, afraid that you'd get sick and leave me," he hears her take a shaky breath and swallow back tears. "The reason I didn't give you mercy wasn't because I hated you and wanted you to suffer. I couldn't kill you, I didn't want you to die, so I left you alive." He lets that sink in, and it's almost funny how one gets so stuck on what they assume to be true, that they never consider the alternatives.

They snuggle by the fire long into the night. He recalls what a scrappy little thing she had been, and how she was able to stand up to him when men twice her size would cower. She tells him how Jaqen said she had 'more courage than sense'. They talk about Sally and her father, how he had been right that they didn't survive the winter, and that he had buried them with Thoros. They talk more about her time at the House of Black and White, how she was responsible for the death of a child, even though she was providing mercy to the girl and her father. They offer each other comfort and empathy, but more importantly, a sense of belonging before finally falling asleep in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned a weepy chapter to relive and discuss the events that led to their separation, but... these two had other ideas! 
> 
> Thank you again for the lovely comments. They make me happy :)


	9. Day 9

Sandor felt lighter than he had in... well, maybe ever. It had taken him roughly two years to turn his life around, but he's mostly content with the change. These days with Arya have pulled together all of the threads he's been trying to weave, essentially tying up most of his loose ends. Given the challenge he'll face in just five days, he supposes that it's about time. _It's never too late_ , as Brother Ray used to say.

His horse trots along next to Arya's while he's lost in thought. He can't help but wonder what his life would be like now if he had met Brother Ray, or someone like him, sooner. Or was it almost dying that helped him make the choice? He notices then that Arya is looking at him curiously. He raises his eyebrows in question and she giggles.

"I knew you weren't listening," she grins and shakes her head. He watches her hair move and is reminded of the way it looked across the pillow this morning as she slept. They had stayed tangled up together in bed for far too long. She had fixed her hair in that same strange way as her bastard brother and father, but she hadn't been able to disguise the pretty flush and pinked lips. He decides that he likes leaving his mark on her like that. She's waving her hand in front of his face now. _Fuck_ , he had stopped listening again. He meets her eyes while smirking slightly and she laughs lightly. "What are you thinking about, hmm?" She asks teasingly. He waggles his eyebrows at her and she bites her lip. "Later," she almost whispers, and he can't fucking wait.

* * *

Further down the road, they stop to water the horses and pick some apples for the way. He's reminded again that they're just days away from King's Landing but pushes that thought aside for now. Soon they'll have to talk about strategy at King's Landing, and what happens after, if anything. Would she still be with him after this, when she can have anyone and doesn't think she's about to die? He thinks so, but his insecurities eat at him.

Arya's been a bit fidgety today, almost appearing anxious or uneasy. He wonders if she's also thinking about what lies ahead, or if it's something else. She's bouncing her leg now and probably doesn't even realize it. He tilts his head and watches her, noticing the tense way she's holding herself and the firm set of her lips. It's a little unsettling given her usual overly calm state.

"Wolf-girl," he watches as her gaze slides to him and the fidgeting stops.

"What?" One little word and the irritation is overflowing and spilling out.

"What's wrong? Don't you dare say 'nothing'!" The rushes the second half out as he sees her mouth already forming the word. She sighs and stands up, though she manages maybe thirty-seconds before pacing.

"I'm restless. I need to fight, or train, or shoot," she even sounds annoyed at being annoyed. He thinks about it and can recall times he felt that way himself. It's common for soldiers to get twitchy between battles or while waiting for a fight. It can be right dangerous and cause you to make stupid mistakes as you're hankering for a fight.

"Well, we're not going to go looking for a fight," he gives her a pointed look and she scowls. "I haven't seen a bow with you," she nods in confirmation. "So what do you normally do to train?" That flitting around he's seen her do only required her little sword or that dagger, which is a fine piece of Valryian steel. He wonders who she had to kill to get that.

"I trained with fighting sticks at the House of Black and White, which means I got hit with them a lot," she gives him a sad smile. "At Winterfell though, I sparred with Brienne and Grey Worm mostly," she stops pacing and sits down across from him again. "They're both very different fighters so it was quite helpful," she's bouncing her leg again.

"Come on, girl, let's get it over with," he stands up and draws his sword then walks to a clearer area. She bounds over excitedly but quickly manages to check herself. As they face off and begin their dance, it's obvious that they're both holding back. He doesn't want to hurt her, but he also doesn't want to hesitate at the wrong time and get unwittingly stabbed. He has seen her in action though and tries to keep in mind that she's capable of handling him. As they spar, they grow more confident and enjoy the back and forth. Arya expertly, and annoyingly, ducks, evades, and sidesteps most of his attempted strikes. He is able to overpower her in some situations though because of his strength and size. He also has seen a couple of her tricks a few times now to be one step ahead and catch her off guard. She's not a sore loser though and is clearly amused the times he triumphs. Arya definitely has more energy than he does, or just uses less of it while evading than he does constantly swinging his sword.

By the time they call it quits, they're both sweaty and exhausted, chests heaving and eyes sparkling. Sandor is still amazed that this tiny woman is such a formidable opponent. She had the attitude even as a small girl, but now she has the abilities to back it up. Stick fighting, swordplay, lethal dagger, spot on arrows, poison, face changing, stealth... he's fucking glad he's no longer her enemy. Who knows what else she could do if she sets her mind on it.

"Is it safe to assume that you've crossed all the other names off your list?" He means it to be lighthearted, but her expression hardens.

"I didn't get to a lot of those on my list, but they're dead just the same. Joffrey, Walder Frey, Meryn Trant, Tywin Lannister, The Red Woman, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Ilyn Payne." He bobs his head as she recites the names. He memorized it too from the number of times he heard it. "Plus others," she says darkly.

"Aye," he doesn't want to think about the two names she left out yet. "What did The Red Woman, Beric, and Thoros do to earn a spot?" Sandor stands up as he asks, knowing they need to get going, and to give her a distraction from an unpleasant topic. "This because of Gendry?" He turns his back to release the horses and lead them towards the road.

"How did you know?" Arya asks him as she mounts her horse.

"Gendry was bitching to Thoros and Beric when we went north. Said he was sold to the witch." He hops on his horse and they set a decent pace. He thinks on his time beyond the Wall, the odd group that had formed, and how it had all been a waste of time. Thoros, a dragon, and other men had died for nothing.

"They traded him for gold without a second thought, while knowing she wanted his blood. We had traveled together a long time by then and I didn't want to lose him or have that witch kill him," she looks over at him with sad eyes as they trot along.

"It sounds like he does mean something to you, girl." He looks away and doesn't want to be jealous, after all, she turned down his proposal and said she didn't love him. On the other hand, the bastard knows what it's like to be inside her, and she obviously feels something for him. He comforts himself a little more with the knowledge that the smith couldn't kiss or fuck worth a damn.

"Of course, we went through a lot together that year and a half. He protected me and I came to see him as a friend, but nothing more." He meets her eyes again to see the sincerity, not that she really needs to prove anything. "Since Gendry returned unharmed, I removed their names from my list, though they died anyway." She watches the road again and pets her horse's neck sweetly. "I guess it's fortunate that I didn't kill her, or I probably would have stayed in that room instead of going to kill the Night King." She must see the confusion on his face and continues, "She pointedly reminded me of a couple of things that helped me overcome my fear and gave me a purpose."

"How'd she do that? It wasn't more than a couple of minutes that you were there with her," he says and she nods.

"The day she took Gendry, I stood up to her and she grabbed my face. She said I'd 'shut many eyes forever, brown, blue, and green' and that 'we'd meet again'. When we found her in that room, I told her she was right. She emphasized blue eyes then and it clicked. I looked at her wondering that's what she meant and somehow I knew it was," she shrugs. It's clear to both of them that it's not something to be taken lightly. "Melisandre also asked me what we say to the God of Death, something Syrio taught me, and the answer is 'not today'." She smiles at that, clearly having a fondness for the Braavosi teacher. "It's funny because I think all of us expected Jon, Daenerys, or the dragons to save us. It never occurred to me or anyone else until that moment that I might be able to help." Sandor nods, realizing that she's right. A lot of people at Winterfell had seen and done many things in their lives, had skills and abilities that might have improved matters, but Jon and Daenerys seemed the most likely heroes.

"I still don't know how you managed it but I am glad that she gave you the push you needed to save us all," he says and gives her a warm smile. Instead of returning his smile, she slowly shakes her head.

"I'm no hero, as I said before," she's facing forward again so he can no longer see her expression. "Sixty-four," she says suddenly and his brows furrow trying to figure what that might mean. "The number of people I've killed," he stays quiet to see if she needs to get anything else off her chest. "The first time I was eleven, and sixty-one more before I was even seventeen," he sees her bite her cheek and reaches over to take one of her hands in his. It slows their pace a bit, but he wants to offer her some small comfort.

"One man can kill that many in a day of war," he says quietly. "No, you weren't in traditional combat, but you were fighting for your life, and those you love," he squeezes her hand and strokes it with his thumb. "I was twelve when I killed my first man in battle and too many to count since." They stay that way for a long while, just holding hands and slowing ambling down the road. Up ahead, the ruins of Harrenhal are starting to become visible. He squeezes her hand again before letting go, wanting his guard up just in case. He doesn't see or hear anyone but stays alert. "You know who's Lord there now?" Sandor asks her without moving his eyes from the road and surrounding areas.

"No. Littlefinger was Lord and the last of his name. It's in ruins anyway, maybe it just stays empty." He nods his head a couple of times and thinks that's probably for the best. "He was one of the sixty-four, did you know that?" Her tone is flat, without guilt or pride.

"Why?" He asks to know her reason, but that slimy fucker had it coming for a long time now. Being a silent but observant fixture around King's Landing, Sandor was aware of some of Littlefinger's antics. Had had also seen how he treated the women of his brothel.

"He was trying to manipulate Sansa into betraying Jon and turning her against me so she would take power in the north, with him by her side," she scoffs and he's disgusted. The last thing Sansa needed when she was finally safe at home was his manipulation. "Sansa spoke to Bran and had him look at Littlefinger's actions. He killed our aunt, her husband, told us that the Lannisters did it, betrayed our father, and sold Sansa to the Boltons," she unsheathes the dagger and holds it up, "and somehow the cutthroat that tried to kill Bran had his knife. Sansa held a trial." She unsheathes the dagger and looks at the tip, "and I cut his throat," sliding her eyes to his and returning the dagger to her hip.

Sandor looks at her then and is reminded of his earlier thought that there's something off with her. He's not afraid of her and doesn't think she's some kind of monster, but that ability to slip into the cold killer is alarming. There's just something in her tone, her eyes, the set to her face, her movements, that screams caution.

"Sounds like he deserved it. People like him will just go on causing harm until they're stopped," he says resolutely.

"Like your brother," she says softly and reaches for his hand. He looks around briefly before taking it, still a little wary about the area. Given that they haven't seen or heard anything yet, he holds it and enjoys the connection, however small.

"Aye," he says finally.

"I only remember seeing him at the tournament in Winterfell, and here," she nods in the direction of Harrenhal. "Tell me about him?" He really doesn't want to discuss his brother, but they've shared so much that it wouldn't be right for him to shut her out now. He nods and lets himself remember his youth.

"Gregor is a few years older, taller than most men since he came of age, and mean as long as I can remember." She strokes his hand and keeps him in the present. "I don't know what happened to my mother, sister, or the many servants that disappeared from the keep," he exhales loudly, "nobody could prove anything at least." They all felt he was responsible but didn't know what he had done to them. "I was seven when he burned me and it took six servants to pry him away," he realizes he's squeezing her hand and loosens his grip. "He was knighted, killed Rhaegar's children, raped and killed Rhaegar's wife, and likely killed our father," his teeth clench together. "I left the day he became Lord of our house and have never gone back. Instead, I worked for the Lannisters until the Blackwater burned," he looks up at Harrenhal and thinks of the horror his brother brought there. "Several of his wives have died or gone missing too," he says and wonders why nobody put him down already. He's committed so many crimes, and yet he's free to wander and cause fear and pain wherever he goes. Not for much longer if he has anything to say about it. _I'm coming for you, brother._

* * *

The break to spar earlier, combined with their slow pace, results in them having to camp for the night. The day felt twice as long as some days, and Sandor is quite tired by the time they set up camp. He eats his fill out of necessity and watches in amusement as Arya eats like she hasn't been fed all week. He's reminded of the time they ate all the fucking chickens at the tavern. He smiles and takes the time to look at her, wanting to remember every little detail, while wondering how much longer she'll be his.

After washing up, he removes his sword and armor, sighing in relief as he's unburdened. He lays down and immediately wishes they had made it to an inn tonight. Arya returns from tending to her needs, strips off the sword, belt and outer shirts, then cuddles up to his chest. She sighs happily and looks up into his face. Their eyes lock and his eyes must reveal his warring thoughts and emotions.

Arya reaches up and cradles his head in her hands, and her little thumbs graze his beard. She raises her lips to his and kisses him tenderly. It's a slow kiss that offers the closeness and solace he so desperately needed. She often seems to know exactly what he needs, even when he hasn't yet figured it out. When the kiss ends, she guides his head down to her upper chest. His arms wrap around her middle as he snuggles into her. She rests a hand on his shoulder as the other cradles his head and strokes his hair. Arya presses her lips to his head in soft kisses and continues to stroke his hair, neck, and shoulders long into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clegane background info from season 2 DVD extras, "History and Lore of Westoros - House Clegane"
> 
> Arya's death toll includes the two she ordered Jaqen to kill, as well as the Night King, though debatable if he should count. The majority came from poisoning House Frey (51). 
> 
> Thank you for the comments/kudos :)


	10. Day 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for sexual content

Sandor opens his eyes the next day to a gray sky. He's still on his side and Arya is curled into him slightly under the furs. It's fucking cold this morning and their positions last night would have left her upper body exposed to the air. He makes sure that she's tucked in now and wraps an arm around her. Winter has never been his favorite, but a northern girl like her is probably more used to it.

He is becoming increasingly worried as they get closer to King's Landing. As much as he has tried to ignore it, they have to talk today about what they'll do when they get there. He wishes that they had been given more time to prepare and get to King's Landing before the others. It will be much harder to get into the Keep with Cersei's people on guard. Then there's also that not-so-small matter of the five armies and a dragon... 

He feels Arya stir and soon after she pokes her head out from the blanket. She tilts her head up toward him and he leans down to give her the kiss she silently requested. She raises a hand and strokes her fingers over the worry lines he didn't manage to hide in time. _Not yet_. He shakes his head slightly before burying his head in her neck.

A short while, and many kisses later, they emerge from their warm cocoon to start the day. The monotonous routine of washing up, eating, feeding the horses, dealing with bedding, etc. completed, and they find themselves on the road yet again. Maybe he should be grateful for it. It means they still have time, they're not yet in the Lion's Den, and they're still together.

"What is it?" He knew she wouldn't forget the fact that he was troubled.

"We're only three days out now," she nods and her eyes look wary, "about time we talk about what happens in King's Landing." She tilts her head and some of the tension drains out of her. "What did you think I meant?" She turns away before he can study her face.

"It can wait," she says vaguely and he makes a mental note to come back to that. She looks at him and her expression is neutral now. "Do we have a plan?" He's shaking his head before she even finishes her question.

"No, girl. Not _we_. Gregor is mine," he clenches his jaw and feels his anger rising. Arya rolls her eyes at him.

"Dead is dead, Sandor. What difference does it make if-."

"No! I don't want you anywhere near him. Do you hear me?" He's almost yelling at her now and he hates it, but he has to make her listen. She stiffens and glares at him.

"You want revenge so much that you'd risk your life to kill him? Why? Two against one would-," Sandor wills his fear and anger back down.

"Would you shut up?" He is yelling now and his fists are clenched in the reigns. He catches the hurt in her eyes before she jerks her head in the direction of... well, anywhere but him. He lets out a harsh breath and tries not to be so quick to anger. "Arya," he says much more controlled and waits for her to look at him. When she does finally turn, he's met with the cold little bitch stare. Fine, maybe that version will listen. 

"My brother is a monster. Not just big and strong. Not just violent and cruel. They did something to him," he pauses remembering looking at his brother through his helmet. "I don't know what he is now, or what it will take to kill him," he wonders if it's even possible.

"Maybe Qyburn can help with that," her voice is softer than her expression. He nods and looks ahead. He considered it but there may not be time to torture it out of him. "I may need him to get to Cersei anyway," she says ominously.

"You got a thing for old man skin?" He tries to get her to drop the bitch mask. Arya pointedly raises an eyebrow and looks him up and down.

"Apparently," she answers with the corners of her mouth quirked up.

"You little shit," he says while trying not to smile.

"Sandor, you're forgetting something," her voice is more serious now. "The Mountain is not going to leave his Queen's side during an attack. Especially not if he's as invincible as you think." He lets that sink in and doesn't like it one bit.

"No," he's shaking his head, "we need to separate them somehow. Maybe I can draw him out," he thinks there has to be a way to keep her safe from Gregor.

"Maybe," she says and appears to be lost in thought.

"He's going to be hard enough to kill without worrying about him hurting you. I don't want him to even know you're there or that you mean something to me," he snaps his mouth shut and looks away. He hadn't meant to say that last part. He doesn't want Gregor within a hundred miles of Arya anyway, but if he knows that she's on his side, he'd take her away like the rest of his family.

"Yet you expect me to concentrate on Cersei and not worry about what this monster is doing to _you_?" She scoffs and looks down at her hands, but not before he notices that her eyes are wet. They're silent then for what feels like a very long time.

"We'll come back to Gregor," he says finally when no solution arises. "There are going to be men from both sides guarding the Blackwater, the grounds, the city, the gates, the Red Keep. We also have to worry about _your_ brother, the dragon bitch, and their armies." The more he thinks about it, the less possible it seems.

"Getting into the Red Keep won't be a problem," she says confidently, "at least not for me." There is a larger chance that someone will recognize him due to his size or scars since he served in King's Landing for years. She would more easily blend in with the crowd.

"You just gonna stroll up to the gates and ask nicely?" He smirks at her and she rolls her eyes again.

"Maybe," she smiles slightly. "Jon wouldn't be happy to see me, but he would let us by if it meant no war and sparing so many lives. As for Daenerys," she pauses to think about it, "I suppose it depends on whether she believes I'm there to kill Cersei, or if she believes Sansa sent me to betray her." He nods at this and agrees that it could go either way with the dragon bitch. "Otherwise, I know the passages and dungeons underground to move around, I can be quick and silent, and I can always take a face if it's the only way to go undetected." He feels a chill at the thought of her 'taking a face'. He fucking hopes it's some magic nonsense and not... manual.

"Too many unknowns," he sighs and rubs his forehead. "We won't know where each group is, what they're planning, or when," he's annoyed with himself. He should have done this sooner and without the little wolf. He had all these years to take his brother out, but he chooses now, in the middle of a fucking war. He rubs the back of his neck.

She reaches over to take his hand. "That's enough for now. We have a few days still." He tries to focus on her and not the nightmare to come. A few more days... that might be all he has left with her. He tells him to snap out of it and enjoy every minute with her.

"So, tell me what it was like to ride a dragon!" Her eyes are bright and she's grinning at him. He can't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. Naturally, Arya would be bouncing up and down for a chance to ride one rather than petrified like most women... most men too, for that matter.

* * *

Arya flops backward onto the bed earning a chuckle from him. The tavern below the inn had been quite busy when they arrived. Mixing men, ale, women, and outsiders was never a good idea in his experience. He ordered a bath and food to be brought to them instead. He won't remove his armor and relax until they are delivered and the door is barred.

While they wait, he stands in front of her and easily pulls one leg up until her sole is against his stomach. He works at removing her boot and she hums appreciatively as her foot is freed. He does the same for her other foot. He sets her weaponry aside and unlaces her leather tunic. He leaves it on for now on the chance that whoever brings their things will have a cock. He's too tired to butcher anyone for looking at her right now.

The food arrives first so they sit together and share a meal and easy conversation. She tells him about her journey to Braavos and the first time she saw the giant Titan statue. They discuss Bran, what happened to him, and what he can do now. He laughs when she describes putting sheep shit in Sansa's mattress when they were younger. The bath is set up and they've finished eating, but he hates to break a moment this... normal.

They undress and continue talking as they soak in the tub. Sandor washes her hair and she makes the most alluring sounds. When he asks her if it really feels that good, she confirms what words cannot express, and returns the favor. He hasn't had anyone care for him in this way since maybe his mother and he can't remember her. Her touch and gentle massage have him closing his eyes and making embarrassing sounds of his own.

She sits between his legs on the rug as he combs her hair. They're wrapped in dry linens and she has just finished his hair. He had initially resisted her attempts to tend to his, feeling like a bloody child, but she insisted and he found himself enjoying that too. Later, when they're dry and warm from the fire, he turns her to face him and presses his lips to hers. He kisses her slowly but it quickly escalates.

Arya straddles his lap but he holds her hips so she can't rub against him. She makes a sound of frustration and he chuckles against her lips. He stands up with a little difficulty and her legs wrap around him. He carries her to the bed and lays down atop her. She does rub against him then as he kisses her lips and her neck.

"Arya," he lifts up to see her face. "I want-," he hesitates and tries again, "can I-," he lowers his eyes and scoffs at his shyness.

"Yes," his eyes dart back to hers, "anything." He draws in a deep breath, overcome with her absolute trust in him and his growing desire for her. He kisses her slowly, teasing her mouth, as her hands stroke his back. He rubs his face down her neck and chest, letting his beard drag along her skin. Her breath hitches and her nipples harden.

His mouth goes back up to lick and press wet, open-mouthed kisses along her neck and collarbone. He nuzzles her chest then turns his attention to her breasts. He circles her nipples with his tongue. She squirms and presses her chest more firmly into his face. He lightly tugs on her nipples with his lips and his teeth.

As his kisses move lower and his chin nudges the soft hair between her legs, she stills. He holds her waist and slides further down the bed with her. He ends up crouching on the floor and resting his elbows on the mattress. He looks at her then, taking in her parted lips, rosy skin around her nipples, thighs parted, and silky folds. He locks eyes with her as his face moves closer.

He runs his hands from her knees to her upper thighs. His thumbs reach out and stroke the soft skin surrounding her woman's place. He's wanted to do this to a woman for so long. Now that it's not just some woman, but _Arya_ , he wants to make sure it's good for her. She's watching him and bites her lip as he stares at her.

"Stop me if I do something you don't like," she nods slowly but without apprehension. He begins pressing kisses on each side of her soft folds. He breathes her in and likes how she feels against his lips. He drags a finger through her folds and marvels at the delicate and yielding flesh.

"Sandor," she says sounding breathless and impatient. He laughs inwardly since he's only just begun.

He leans in to slide his tongue up along her open folds. Arya gasps and he can taste her on his tongue. He doesn't know what he's doing but he's determined to make this pleasurable for her. He takes his time and pays attention to her responses as he kisses, licks, nuzzles and rubs at her folds. He slides his thumb above her opening until he finds her sensitive spot.

He caresses and laps at it while making sure he's gentle. She writhes and is making so much noise he's worried someone will come to check on her. Her legs begin to tremble as he slides his tongue down between her folds, enters her, then moves back up to lap at her spot. He continues doing it and sees her hands grip the bedding.

Arya lifts her hips towards his face then closes her legs around him as they start to shake. He plunges his tongue into her opening, wiggling it inside her, and his nose inadvertently rubs against her spot. She all but screams his name and he watches as she points her toes and her eyes squeeze shut. He stays there, making the tiniest movements to prolong her bliss. She stretches out on the mattress with her chest heaving.

He uses the shirt he discarded earlier to wipe his face and beard before crawling up and over her body. Her eyes are still closed but her hands reach up to touch his sides. He kisses her gently and loves that he can make her feel so sated. Arya's hands urge him closer and he complies. She reaches between them, wraps her hand around his cock, and slides it between her folds until it's at her opening.

He inhales sharply as she raises her hips and his cock eases inside her. She does it again and he groans at the feeling of her soft, warm, wetness surrounding him. His arms go under her shoulders and his body presses down into hers. They both moan as she takes him completely. He shifts his body slightly to rub the base of his cock against her spot.

She lifts her hips again and his breath hitches. They thrust, squirm and grind until they find a good rhythm. She thrusts her hips up into him as he grinds his pelvis against hers. The result is almost overwhelming. It's intimate yet insistent, gentle yet deep, pleasurable yet torturous.

"Fuck, Arya, you feel-", he pants harder. "I want-," he's wild with need. He kisses her hard as his hands grip her arse and lift her to him. He begins rocking his hips and sliding in and out of her quicker.

"Sandor," she whispers as she wraps her legs high on his hips and really opens herself up for him.

"Mmm, you like that?" He remembers, a little belatedly, how much she enjoyed hearing his dirty words the night she touched herself. "Being inside you is the sweetest thing there is," he says huskily. "I can still taste you," he nibbles her ear, "I want to feel you squeeze my cock."

Arya moans, tightens her legs around him and claws his back as she comes undone... and takes him with her. He groans loudly and it sounds like a roar in the small room. Their bodies are slicked with sweat and they're both breathing heavily. He rolls over to his back so he's not squishing her. Bloody hell it's hot in here. They lay there for a long while before either of them is able to move or speak.

Finally, Arya slides over to rest her head on his shoulder. His arm comes up to hug her waist and he musters enough energy to lean up and kiss her head. He feels good and not just because of the obvious. He truly feels accepted for the first time in his life. Everything they do - sleeping, sharing a meal, bathing, traveling, fucking, and the rest - is better because of her.

He laughs at himself for turning into a bloody woman each time they share some sort of intimacy. Arya's breaths are slow and even and he knows she's fallen asleep on his chest. He has cared for her since she was a brave little pup that lost so much. Now though, he feels an attachment to her, mutual trust, an urge to not only protect her but make her happy, and he thinks he would be lost without her by his side. For as little as he's known it in his life, he'd daresay that what he feels for Arya, is love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in posting this one... but hoping to get a couple more out this weekend! 
> 
> Thank you for your continued support :)


	11. Day 11

Sandor yawns and his eyes water. They're on the road yet again and he's exhausted. Arya smirks at him because it's her fault he's tired. She woke him sometime in the night wanting him once more. It was intense, quick, and very noisy. The innkeeper's wife smiled knowingly on their way out of the inn.

Arya actually blushed but he smiled back proudly. He realizes that lately nobody fears the angry man with the scars. They treat him like they would anyone else with her by his side. He remembers what Arya said about people fearing _him_ and not his face. They might just see a good man that earned the affection of such a strong and beautiful young woman.

While he doesn't know exactly how she feels about him, he does know that she feels _something_. He hopes they have time to sort that out. He's afraid for her and what might happen in King's Landing. He doesn't want to die, especially now, but it might be his time. Arya, on the other hand, deserves to finally live after all of the shit she's been through in her young life.

"Where are you?" Arya asks suddenly and interrupts his thoughts. He sighs and doesn't want to discuss this now. Talking while riding and not being able to look at her properly is frustrating. He sighs and decides to get it over with now.

"Why do you have to kill Cersei?" He tells himself to keep calm and not yell at her. 

"We already talked about this," he nods. It came up their first night together though and much has changed between them since then.

"I understand why she's on your list," he says reasonably. "Why do _you_ have to kill her? You didn't kill most of the people on there."

"Why shouldn't I after everything she's done to my family?" Her eyes are narrowed and she's frowning.

"What was it you said to me yesterday?" He pretends to think about it with his index finger against his chin. "'Dead is dead, what difference does it make how?'." She huffs and rolls her eyes.

"That's different," she doesn't sound very convincing.

"No, it's not. Aye, she's an evil bitch. She cannot win nor will she be taken alive." He has heard of her affinity for poison when she thinks she might be in danger. Fucking coward.

"You don't know that," her voice is flat.

"If I'm wrong and she wins, wouldn't it be better to go _after_ the war?" She's so blinded by her urge to kill Cersei herself that she isn't thinking clearly. Any trained assassin or sellsword would know that it's far too risky right now.

"I can't believe you're trying to stop me. You're going for the same reason!" Arya snorts and squares her shoulders. "You didn't listen when I told you not to go, but I'm supposed to listen to you? Men...," she says with disgust.

"We are _not_ going for the same reason," he scratches his beard then rubs his forehead.

"No? You don't want revenge for what he did to you and your family?" She sounds incredulous and he actually doesn't blame her. How the fuck does he explain what he doesn't understand himself?

"It's more than that," his words are quiet and he sees her anger begin to fade. "Can't this wait until later?" She narrows her eyes like he's trying to pull one over on her. "I swear. Next stop," he says in a hoarse whisper.

She's looking at him curiously. He can almost see her head filling with the possibilities. She nods finally and he breathes a sigh of relief. He takes her hand and squeezes it gently.

"Think we can make the next innkeeper blush?" He tries to lighten the mood and is relieved when she gives him a small smile. He winks at her then and her smile widens.

It's cold and dreary today as they continue south. He generally doesn't give two shits about the weather but knowing what they're up against makes it more ominous somehow. The roads and villages are more populated as they get closer to the capital. This forces them to talk less and pay more attention to their surroundings.

They spot a wagon just off the road before their destination. It appears to have broken a spoke and Arya gives Sandor a bittersweet smile. He helps by lifting the wagon so the farmer can fix the wheel. He is not knocked out by either of them and they're given salt pork and apples for their trouble. If there is a god, he wonders if Brother Ray is whispering in his ear to create these moments and prove a point.

* * *

They made good time today. It's still light out as they settle the horses, so he gives Stranger a little attention. He's an ornery beast but he's been with Sandor for many years. Arya is leaning against the entryway just watching him and he can't quite read the look in her eyes.

"He never did like me," she says with a hint of a smile.

"Aye, he doesn't like anyone but he can handle my size." His eyes leave hers and he strokes Stranger's neck now that he's fed and groomed.  

"So can I," she says with a smirk. He chuckles and moves closer to her as they both watch Stranger for a bit.

"If I don't make it, make sure he has someone." He lowers his head to hide his emotions. It's a fucking horse. Why should he care what happens to him if he dies? But he does...

She tugs his arm until he's standing in front of her. She stands on his feet and he gives her a quizzical look. She goes to her tiptoes and wraps her arms around his neck. She's still a bit short so he holds her tight against his chest and lets her feet dangle. He notices a few people glancing their way. It's the first time she's ever showed much affection for him in public.

"I promise," she says against his neck, "even if it costs me a hand". He tightens his arms around her and kisses her head. After a minute or two, he sets her down gently and they walk hand and hand into the inn.

Tonight they eat with the few others in the tavern since it's too early for troublemakers. They don't start trouble until they've had more time to drink in his experience. Sandor and Arya talk some but mostly they eat and watch the comings and goings. The food is filling and ale is helping him feel warm and relaxed.

One of his hands rests on his thigh while the other is around his cup on the table. He feels Arya touch his hand and looks down at it. She holds his hand up to hers and it's easily twice the size. He enjoys her touch and leaves his hand there to do as she pleases. That's the third time now she's touched him in public today. Could it be that she loves him too?

"I remember doing this with my father," her voice is soft and nostalgic. "I used to marvel at how much bigger he and my brothers were, and I thought I'd never be as big as them." His eyes take in her sad eyes and a faint smile. "Turns out I never will be," he smiles back thinking about how small she is for a woman.

His hand is resting on the table now as she absently brushes her fingers against his palm. Sandor picks up his cup with his other hand and glances around while drinking. Satisfied that all is well, he returns his gaze to her. Arya's eyes are unfocused and she appears to be biting the inside of her cheek. She snaps out of it eventually and shifts her eyes back to him.

"Didn't you ever want children?" He raises his eyebrows and regards her curiously.

"What?" His voice is devoid of emotion and unsure where this is going.

"Children, babies, little people that grow-," he leans across the table.

"For fuck's sake, I know what children are," he works to keep his voice low but his annoyance is clear.

"Then answer the question," her eyebrows raise now too and he sits back in his seat. He removes his hand from the table and crosses his arms over his chest. _Children_. He snorts at the absurdity of that thought. He would have made a shit father.

"No," he says firmly. "Wasn't allowed to as sworn shield or Kingsguard," he shakes his head. "Didn't have a woman to give me one anyway," his voice is neutral. "Why?"

"No reason," Arya says lamely and shrugs. He studies her closely.

"Bloody hell, girl. There has to be some reason you asked me that," his brow furrows and he uncrosses his arms to lean close to her again. "Tell me."

"I watched you care for Stranger earlier," he nods. "Then seeing our hands together, I thought about how much smaller a child's hand would be," she shrugs again. "What about bastards?"

"No, I don't want a bastard either," he's frowning now and wishing he had more ale.

"No," she chuckles. "Might you have one... like Gendry?" He presses his lips together and wonders if that name will always make him scowl. It takes him a minute to understand her question.

"Most whores know what to do," though obviously not all of them since the smith is alive. "Besides, what whore would keep the child of an ugly dog?" He thanks the fucking gods as a wench brings him more ale. He sees a glint in Arya's eyes and knows he's not going to like what comes next.

"How many girls have you been with anyway?" He's heard enough men bitch about trouble from their women from questions like these.

"Why do you care?" He drinks more ale and does his best to avoid answering.

"Maybe I want to know how many of your bastards are roaming Westeros," she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "Maybe I want to know how many girls you've fucked," she says the last word slowly and then moistens her lips with her tongue. "Or maybe," her eyes grow dark and cold, "I'm almost out of names and need to start a new list."  

She probably could do it if she wanted. Her eyes sometimes let him see the dangerous and chilling assassin she trained to become. If he was sober he'd probably be alarmed. If his cock wasn't so fucking hard he'd try to talk her out of it. Unfortunately for the whores, his cock finds possessive Arya incredibly arousing.

"Upstairs now or I'm going to fuck you on this table in front of everyone after all," his voice is low and husky. Arya's eyes blink slowly and reveal her own need for him. She stands up and downs the rest of _his_ ale. However, instead of going upstairs, she starts undoing the laces of her leather tunic. _Fuck that_. Nobody gets to see her naked but him.

He throws her over his shoulder and carries her towards the stairs without complaint. Once they're out of sight, he slips his hand between her legs and rubs. She gasps and he fights to get the door open. Once inside, he sets her down to bar the door then backs her into the wall. He kisses her deeply until the need to be inside her is too strong to resist.

"Off or I'm going to rip them," he says as he hooks a finger in her pants. They quickly shed their clothes and carelessly drop everything to the floor. She releases the knot from her hair as his hand moves between her legs. Sandor groans when he finds her hot and slick.

He lifts her up by her thighs and pins her to the wall. She wraps her legs around his waist as he strokes his cock between her folds. He locks eyes with her and lowers her onto him. _Gods_... He slides in easily and Arya moans. He moves her along his length a few times then holds her in place.

He thrusts his hips and watches as her mouth opens and her head tips back. He fucks her hard and fast as she moans, squirms, and claws his back and shoulders. He grips her hips and adjusts the angle to better suit her. He hears her gasp and continues to bury himself inside her.

"Oh fuck...," she bites her lip and he grinds against her with each thrust. He's getting close now and his bad leg is starting to tremble. He's momentarily distracted as he watches her tits bounce with every thrust. Her body begins to tremble and she tries to move her hips.

"Mmm," she says breathlessly. He's grunting and sweating while desperately trying to wait for her. She wraps her arms tightly around his neck and starts bouncing up and down on his cock. He loves seeing her take what she needs. She starts shaking and moving frantically.

"Yes," he takes over and holds her hips as he pushes his cock inside her until he feels her squeezing him. "Sandor," she says as she falls apart. He grunts into her neck and pushes deep inside her as he finds his release. He wraps one arm under her thighs and the other around her back. They're both breathing heavily. His leg wobbles again and he has to sit.

"Hold on to me," he says as he moves across the room and sits at the end of the bed. He holds her tighter when it feels like she's getting up. "Not yet," he says quietly and she stays put. He places soft kisses on her neck as their breathing returns to normal. "Did I hurt you?" He leans back to see her face.

"No," her eyes are heavy-lidded and intense. She kisses him softly and something inside him is chanting _tell her, tell her, tell her_.

"Arya," he takes a deep breath and feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. "I want you to know," he pauses to try to calm the fuck down, "I-."

"Shh, it's alright. I know you swore to finish telling me tonight, but it can wait until tomorrow," she gives him another kiss and moves her legs. They both gasp as he slips out of her. She cups his face in her hands and smiles at him before laying down in her usual spot.  

_Well, shit_. Was it not the right time? Did she know and get up on purpose? What if she doesn't love him? He should still tell her anyway, right? _Fuck_. He lays down next to her and pulls her against his chest. He covers her up and rests an arm around her waist. He hears her breathing change and wishes he could sleep that easily.

He isn't sure what to feel right now. All in all, it was one of their better days, and what they just did against the wall was bloody brilliant. He loves her, he's sure of it now. So why does he have this knot in his stomach?

_Stomach. Children. Plenty of fucking_. He freezes and his eyes go wide. _Seven bloody buggering hells_! He's spilled inside her how many times now? Arya's not a whore and she probably doesn't know how to prevent babies. She didn't she say anything or make him pull out. Aye, blame the maiden. Clegane, you're a fucking bastard. He _knew_ better but it honestly never occurred to him.

Is that why she asked him about children? Does _she_ want children? For fucks sake, he'd know that if he asked earlier instead of going on about what he wants. She wouldn't know already, would she? It's only been a week. He breaks out into a cold sweat. Moon tea! Would that work a week later? Would it hurt her? Does he want it to work? He rubs his head as all of these thoughts rush in at once. If she _does_ want children and he offers her moon tea, she'll hate him.

If he tells her that he loves her now, will she believe him or think he's only saying it because of a child? Fuck, would it even be his? Maybe the smith didn't know either? Would she marry _Lord_  fucking Gendry then?

Or... once Gregor is put down, he could return to claim House Clegane? Would she still be against becoming a Lady if she had a child? An even more terrifying thought occurs to him. If tiny Arya is carrying a Clegane, she may not survive the birthing bed. He would never forgive himself for that. If Gregor wins, he may not live long enough to find out. His chest is tight and he doubts he will sleep at all tonight. 

He is not prepared for all of this... What the fuck is he going to say to her tomorrow? She's going to kill him. One way or another, he's a dead man.


	12. Day 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for sexual content

What a shit day. He's behaved like a fucking cunt today, and Arya is starting to look at him like he's feeble-minded. The three hours of sleep last night have not helped him figure out what to do either. They've only been riding a few hours, but it feels like an eternity.

When he woke up this morning, Arya straddled him. Initially, his hands slid up her body, and he sighed happily. However, when last night came rushing back, he froze. Sandor wasn't ready to discuss it, even if the words were waiting. He resolved not to touch her until she knew the truth.

Without a word, he lifted her off and sat her on the bed. He jumped up and started dressing hurriedly. He mumbled something about relieving himself and fled the room. He hadn't looked at her face fearing the hurt or confusion he might see. He went to take a piss since he was already outdoors hiding from her.

He was heading back when her words from years ago echoed in his head. _You're the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms_! Sandor definitely felt that way now. He had fought hard to turn his life around, and he fucked it all up by dishonoring a highborn lady. Fucking hell.

He stayed outside until they really should have left. He went to get their gear and ready the horses and found Arya almost to the stairs. He took her arm and all but carried her like she was a cripple. He escaped to their room when the innkeeper started up a conversation with Arya. They had still been talking when he came back down and proceeded to the stables.

Once readied, he led the horses to the front of the inn and waited for Arya to come out. When she did, he lifted her onto the horse, but he still couldn't look at her. She had tried to talk to him several times, but he made excuses or just said he was tired. She sounded hurt, and it tore at his chest.

Now, he glances over at her when he can. Her eyes seem to stare at nothing, and the corners of her mouth are turned down. He almost wishes she would get angry and yell at him, or go into a rage and strike him. Anything would be better than having her look so small and empty. The guilt gnaws away at him, and a few hours into the ride, he cracks.

"I need a break," his voice is raspy after not speaking for so long. He leads them through the trees to a clearing. He gets off Stranger and leads both horses to the taller grass and ties them off. He helps her down, then flees through the trees. He was drowning in self-condemnation.

A safe distance away, he sits on a rock then rests his elbows on his knees. She doesn't deserve this, but he doesn't know how to stop it. He holds his head in his hands and closes his eyes. Sandor just needs a minute to think. He startles when she places a hand over his and says his name in an uncertain voice.

"Look at me," her voice is shaky. Sandor straightens up and removes his hands. His little warrior's eyes are wet with unshed tears. Her chin trembles until she bites her lip to stop it. Seeing her this way makes him feel even worse.

"Why?" Arya puts a hand on his shoulder and searches his eyes. He doesn't say anything immediately, and she tries again. "What happened between last night and this morning?" Her words are barely audible even in the relative silence of the woods.

Sandor lowers his gaze and really does try to speak. He doesn't want to hurt her anymore, but nothing comes out. It's like when he sees something burning. The fear and hopelessness stop him cold. The tears she was fighting back are now running down her cheeks.

"What did I do? What could be so bad that you can't even look at me?" She wipes at her eyes, and he finally does what he should have done hours ago. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him. He cradles her head in his hand and buries his head in her neck.

Arya sniffles quietly and he rubs her back with his other hand. "It's what I did," he says finally. "Last night after you fell asleep, I-," he stops speaking when she abruptly pulls away from him.

"You were with me last night?" A long pause. "Weren't you?" Her eyes narrow with the anger she's tamped down all day. He rubs his eyes then covers his face with his hands briefly.

"Yes, Arya. It's not that," he can't even be upset with her for thinking he sought out someone else. He would never do that to her. The muscles in Arya's face tighten and her eyes narrow.

"What the fuck is going on?" Her eyes are red, but the tears have stopped. "Just tell me already, and don't fucking lie!" She's yelling now and staring him down.

The dam breaks, and it all comes pouring out of him like a waterfall. He admits that he was careless and shouldn't have spilled inside her. He apologizes that she might be with child. He explains about moon tea and that it's her choice. He's sweating, babbling, and pacing like a caged animal.

Arya sits on the rock he vacated as he continues. He can't read her face, but her mouth is slack. He talks about Clegane's Keep, and that they wouldn't have to go back to Winterfell if she doesn't want to. Sandor stops pacing and goes to his knees before her. He offers marriage to prevent the babe from being a bastard, though a Clegane isn't much better. He swears to ban dresses if it would help.

It pains him, but he promises to walk away if it's the Smiths' babe, or if she'd rather have him as a husband. He shares his fear about her being too small for birthing a Clegane, and how he'd never forgive himself for that. He regrets that she might have to go through this alone. However, if he lives, he'll do his damnedest not to be the shit father he expects to be. Arya shuts him up by curling an arm around his neck and tugging him into her.

His heart is beating rapidly, and his breathing is heavy. He takes the opportunity to hold her and kiss her temple. Sandor has no idea how she's taking all of this. He has to see her face. He pulls back, then cocks his head as he tries to comprehend her expression. Her eyes are filled with tears, but she's smiling faintly.

"You're an idiot," she sounds both fed up and relieved.

"What?" He pours his heart out, and she says that? He's dumbfounded. She punches him none too lightly on the arm. The fuck?

"You were distant all day, and I was so scared thinking what might have changed," she holds his bearded cheeks in her hands. "Don't ever do that again. Don't go cold and shut me out," some of her tears spill over, and he wipes them away. "I love you too, Sandor," Arya whispers just before she kisses him. He doesn't understand, but he puts that on hold a minute. She loves him? Warmth spreads through his chest and stomach as the kiss communicates their love and vulnerability.

"But...," he says as the kiss ends, still trying to catch up. "What about the rest? I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't think," he says as a poor excuse. She shakes her head and drags her fingers through his beard.

"It's my fault too. I should have talked to you sooner, after the first time at the very least." She leans her forehead against his. Sandor closes his eyes and enjoys just being close to her. While he's still confused, he's no longer manic. "Faceless Men usually don't bear children," she says without sadness.

"I went to Maester Wolkan after we survived the battle," he leans back and looks at her closely. "Gendry, um moved back, before...," he nods not wanting to hear any more on that. "I still wanted to be sure. Maester Wolkan explained that the way my body changes to wear a face lingers for a while, though he isn't certain for how long," she scrunches her face in concentration. "It's hard to describe," she gives him a small smile.

"Basically, it's the reason I'm not with child, won't become ill, and um... don't have moonblood," she shrugs, looking a little embarrassed.  

"If you stop with the faces, then you could... if you wanted to?" He hopes for her sake that she at least has the option.

"That's what he said, but he didn't know how long after I'm immune," she strokes his hair. "I don't want that kind of life. Maybe once I've gone west, settle where I don't feel out of place, figure out how to spend my days...," she shrugs and notices his knees then.

Arya stands up and pats the rock, but he shakes his head. Instead, he turns to lean against it and holds out his arms. She sits sideways on his lap and wraps an arm around him. Sandor's head nestles her neck, and he rests a hand on her outer thigh.

He's so relieved that all is well again, but he's sorry it took so long. Sandor still can't believe she loves him. He cups her cheek and caresses it with his thumb. Arya runs her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. He takes a moment to find his voice. One thing left to do...

"I love you, Arya," his voice is low, words resolute. Sandor receives the most endearing grin just before she covers his face in little kisses.

"Ban dresses, huh? Is that even possible?" She smirks at him as he laughs.

"What's the point in being Lord if you can't make the fucking rules?" Arya she nods in agreement then stands up.

"Since we're stopped, why don't you tell me what you were going to say yesterday?" Sandor nods reluctantly. "I need a minute then I'll bring some food." Arya smiles and goes back toward the horses. He sighs, both in relief that they cleared the air, and for the next challenge.

He gets up and stretches, also using the moment to take a piss. Sandor wonders what it would be like to run Clegane's Keep. He's never had much use for lands and titles, but if he defeats Gregor, it would be his. Could he run things better than the shit he saw in King's Landing? Would Arya be happy there if they did things their way? Don't get ahead of yourself, Clegane. Gregor isn't dead yet...  

When he returns, Arya is already there and has food and water waiting. She looks up at him already happily chewing. Gods, she eats a lot for someone so small. Arya hands his portion over as he sits down on the rock once more. She's cross-legged in the grass, and it makes her look even younger.

"About Gregor, I'll try to tell you. Don't quite understand it all myself though," he takes a bite to gather his thoughts. "You think we're here for a purpose?" She gives him a surprised look and chews slowly before answering.

"Before the Night King, and Melisandre at Winterfell, I would have said no... but now, maybe." He nods, satisfied with her answer.

"You know how you felt when the witch nudged you in the right direction? You said you knew what you had to do?" He plows on because it's not really a question. "Do you believe in the Lord of Light?"

"Not enough to worship him, but yes. I saw Beric return from the dead with the Brotherhood. I saw Melissandre light the arakhs and the trench, and she knew years ago what I had to do. Then Jon," he sees her pause and frown. "Jon died at Castle Black," she bites her lip.

"What?" He's just staring at her now, waiting for her to get on with it.

"Some of the men stabbed him for aligning with the wildlings against the dead," she smiles sadly. "Melisandre brought him back, though not many people know that," he nods understanding what that could do.

"Might help you to understand me then," he leans his elbows on his knees. "I've been getting nudges too. Just so many things, girl," he sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "Aye, I waited a long time to kill my brother for what he did to me, but revenge is only part of why I have to go." He takes a deep breath.

"Ray said there's a reason I'm still here, that the Gods aren't done with me yet. Beric said I'm here for a reason. They both told me it's not too late to do good, to help people," he sighs and rubs his forehead. He appreciates Arya's silence as he gets through this. She's just watching him with interest.

"Beric couldn't say what the fuck his Lord wanted but told me to look into the flames. Fuck, Arya, I saw something," his eyes plead with her to understand and not mock him for this. "It's why we went north of the wall then, how we ended up with Jon, and why I was in Winterfell." Her forehead is creased, but she lets him finish.

"Don't you see? Killing Gregor isn't just revenge, it's my purpose. I may be the only one that can," he looks down at his hands. "I have to do this. I can do a lot of good by ending his cruelty. He can't keep murdering, raping, and torturing," he hears his words thick with emotion. "It's the only way to truly pay back the things I've done, even if I don't make it," he chokes out.  

When he raises his head, he finds her somber and teary-eyed. _Fuck_ , he never wanted to make her cry for the second time today. He slides off the rock to sit on the soft grass and reaches out for her hand. Arya takes it and cuddles into him immediately. He cradles the back of her neck in one hand and leans her back to see her eyes.

"You've already done a lot of good, Sandor," he shakes his head. It hasn't nearly been enough. "And while I hate it and what it could mean for you, and us," she says shyly, "I do understand having this... urge toward duty." His hand rubs her neck, and once again he's flooded with gratitude for how well they understand each other.

She gives him a sweet kiss and a warm smile. Sandor smiles back, then yawns. Relaxing with her like this reminds him that he didn't get much sleep last night. Arya raises an eyebrow.

"Looks like I need to make this more interesting," she says as she brings her lips towards his. Instead of kissing him as he expects, she teases him. Her soft lips brush his, move in as if to kiss him, but pull away any time he tries to make contact. Arya does the same to his ear. He puts his hands on her back to move her closer and end the torture, but she pulls away.

"This more rousing for you, Sandor?" Her voice is sexy and breathless. She puts his hands on the grass. "Keep them there," he nods slowly and wonders what she's going to do next. She stands up and pointedly drags her gaze from his face to his legs. "Bend your knees," she orders, and he obeys.

She moves toward him and positions herself astride his lap, facing away. She leaves her legs spread around him and leans back on his chest. Arya turns her head to watch him as she brings her hand to his mouth. He doesn't know what she wants at first, so she curls all but one finger. He draws in a long breath and takes her finger into his mouth as he did the night she touched herself.

She removes her finger, and he watches it disappear from view. She shifts on him and then exhales and lays against him more fully. He groans from what she's doing to herself but also because she's lightly circling her hips. He has to dig his fingers into the ground to keep from touching her. She gasps as something must feel good and rocks her hips back against his cock.

He wants to spread his legs, grab her hips, and push against her, but the position of his hands and legs makes this very difficult. He hears breathy little noises, not quite moans coming from her lips. He nuzzles and kisses her face and hair as it's all he can do like this.

"Arya...," his chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. He's not sure how much of this he endure before he pounces and takes her in the grass.

"You want something?" Her voice is playful as she rubs her arse against his cock deliberately. He thinks of a way to do more while following her rules.

"Take off your clothes," he says in a hoarse whisper. Arya stills. He hopes she agrees to stop teasing. She gets off his lap and turns to face him. She removes her clothes slowly, and he licks his lips.

"Come here," he tries to stay in control. He widens his legs and keeps his hands on the ground. "Closer." She moves until she's a foot away and he lets his eyes linger between her legs.

Arya inches forward and closes the distance by about half. He assumes she's back to teasing and he'll have to ask for more. He's pleasantly surprised when she raises one foot to the rock behind him. Before he can react, she grips his hair with both hands and makes him look up.

"Are you awake now?" Oh, he'll show her. Instead of answering, his mouth connects with her folds. He wastes no time pleasuring her. His lips and tongue are eager and thorough. He knows what she likes now and loves doing this to her. Nothing makes his cock harder than the feel and taste of her on his tongue.

She pulls his hair and spreads her legs wider. He savors every minute of it. When he feels her legs start to shake and her stance weakens, he supports her with his hands.

He lowers her to his lap after she comes undone, and is too relaxed and limp to stand. He holds her close and enjoys caressing her skin. Before long, she moves to kiss him and undo his pants, but he stops her.

"I have other plans for later," he says quietly against her lips. She grins and raises and eyebrow but doesn't ask. He stretches his legs, watching as she gets dressed. His pants are uncomfortable, and it's going to be a long ride. He's confident it will be worth the wait.

* * *

When they make it to their room hours later, they undress quickly. Kissing and touching until Sandor urgently needs to be inside her.

He kneels behind her on the bed, and they groan when he enters her this way. He keeps her back against his chest, and her arms go up to link around his neck. His hands squeeze her nipples, tits, and hips. His fingers rub the sensitive spot between her legs. When she finds her release, he follows. He stays inside her as long as possible, kissing her neck, and caressing her skin. 

Afterward, they eat and clean up, cuddle, and enjoy the semi-domesticity. When it's time to sleep, Arya nestles into his chest. He's exhausted but deeply satisfied by the time sleep claims him. Hopefully he sleeps well because tomorrow night they'll be at King's Landing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Faceless Man baby part is not from the show. I didn't want a baby fic, so this was my solution. I did leave it open for the future though... :)
> 
> Sandor acts a little like a teenager in his first relationship. He's on a bit of a high, with a rollercoaster of emotions at times.


	13. Day 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry this chapter took so long... last week was rough. I hope to post the epilogue in the next few days. The sequel will not be out for a while as I want to write a few mini things in between. 
> 
> I studied a lot of maps to see where the Kingsroad comes into the city, and to try to determine where they were in 8x5, but may have gotten it wrong.
> 
> Thank you for your continued support :)

In the distance, Sandor can see the Gate of the Gods coming into view. Despite not yet being in the city proper, they're both glancing about rather than focusing on anything in particular. It wouldn't do them any favors to be recognized by either group's armies. Now that would be just his fucking luck; spend two weeks riding down here only to be cut down just outside the gates. _Heh_. Evidently, that noise wasn't just in his head, because Arya turns to him with raised eyebrows. He shakes his head and turns his attention back to the road ahead.

Before long, they veer off the Kingsroad and follow the wall to the King's Gate. Once there, they can advance along the Blackwater Rush to the Mud Gate. It's the closest gate to the Red Keep, as well as being slightly below the castle walls. The Mud Gate, at least the last time he was in King's Landing, was most frequented by fisherman, smugglers, and lowborn. Sandor is presuming that's still the case and it would be less likely they'd be recognized by anyone.

The sight of the King's Gate up ahead fuels the unease he's felt all day. While Arya's life is more of a concern than his own, he doesn't have a death wish. He has such a sense of foreboding knowing what kind of chaos they could be stepping into tomorrow. Tonight they expect to scout out where the key players will be waiting. They're rounding the corner to the southeast wall when he motions for her to stop.

Between them and the Mud Gate is an army encampment. _Fucking hell_. Sandor scowls as he weighs their options. Backtracking and moving up around the other side would take quite some time, while also exposing them to anyone traveling the Kingsroad. Proceeding through the army camp is even more dangerous after just fighting alongside those men in the Great War.

Sandor turns and examines Arya's face to determine her opinion. She tilts her head to the right, indicating that they should move off the road. He gives a small nod and follows while maintaining a close watch. The sun hasn't fully set, leaving them exposed should anyone glance this way. They come to rest on the back side of a small hill.

Moments later, they climb off their horses, pausing to be sure they haven't drawn the attention of a soldier or guard. Sensing no threats, he turns back to Arya. Her eyes are slightly narrowed as she studies the army camp intently. He follows her gaze, but it's hard to make out much detail between the tents so far away. There's obvious movement and a lot of it.

"Definitely Unsullied," she says as she still scans the area. "Dothraki too, I think," she looks up at him then, "probably a good guess that Northmen are down there, too." He nods, anticipating no less after seeing the size of the camp and that allies would stick together. "Still our best bet if we want to check anything out tonight." She sounds confident but doesn't look very satisfied with what they must do.

"We're going to stick out down there, girl," she nods as he says this.

"Our biggest issue would be running into Jon or Grey Worm. Jon might try to stop us, either to keep me safe or to not piss off his queen." She bites her lip, and he can almost see her mind working. "Grey Worm knows me from sparring, but that also means he knows I hate Cersei as much as Daenerys. The only problem is if his queen thinks Sansa sent me to harm her instead," he nods, recalling that bit of information from a few days ago.

"If we run into anyone else, I suppose we just say we're there to help," she shrugs and doesn't sound very convincing. "We may not be soldiers, but we did just fight with them. It may not be that odd," it comes out sounding like a question. He thinks about it and really doesn't have a better idea.

"If we're stopped, you let me do the talking," he lowers his brow and gives her his best 'don't fucking argue with me' look.

"Yes, father," her voice is teasing as her eyes lock onto his. Her smile fades the longer she looks at him. Her eyes fill with tears, and she chews on her bottom lip. It's a wonder his own eyes aren't wet as he knows this may be one of his last moments with her. He closes the distance between them in a couple long strides.

Sandor heaves her up into his arms, his left hand cradling her head against his shoulder. Arya latches on to him. He can feel her fingers digging into his shoulders through his many layers. His hand grasps her neck and turns her face so he can kiss her cheek, temple, and forehead. She pulls back somewhat, their faces just inches apart.

Her hand goes to the back of his neck. Sandor hesitates, knowing it's not safe to be caught unaware right now. At the same time, he wants every last second he can get with her like this tonight. Their lips meet, and they both tighten their holds. The kiss is wistful and affectionate, lasting longer than he intended.

"It's not too late to turn back," he says as he releases her. He has to try. If it didn't have its own dangers, he'd like to tie her to a tree until it's safe. He nods as Arya shakes her head.

"Remember the plan?" Her eyes are big, making her look much younger and more terrified.

"Aye. I won't forget," ...'should I make it' is left unspoken. They chose a spot along the way where they would go afterward if they were separated. Sandor was still hoping for a way to keep Arya away from Gregor. The area was far enough from the city to be safe enough, but close enough in the event either was injured. He cups her face in his hands and strokes her cheek. "Don't be a hero," he says softly.

"Don't die," she says in a shaky voice. Rather than lie, Sandor presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. He backs up and watches as her eyes open and find him. Her eyes are warm for a time, then she magically transforms into the cold little bitch. Arya squares her shoulders and easily mounts her horse.

Sandor does the same and follows her toward the army encampment. He sees her hair sway with the motion of the horse as her thighs straddle it. When the men come into view, indeed all three armies, the tension in his neck and shoulders increases. He wants to turn around. He wants to relive the morning every day for the rest of his life.

* * *

Although they had hoped to sleep, neither had slept well. He had passed the time by brushing his hands along her skin and watching her sleep. She had accidentally woken him once with her fingers in his hair. She apologized, kissed him intently, then tried to sleep once again. At daybreak, they're wide awake, and she's curled into his side. He breaks the silence with a question.

"What will you do now, once Cersei gets what she deserves?" He keeps his voice just above a whisper since they're so close. "You said you weren't going back?" Even though she isn't helpless, and has survived more than most, he still worries. From what she's told him, her family doesn't know what she's done or what she needs.

"I don't know yet," she says just as quietly. "Winterfell no longer feels like home, and too much happened to my family in King's Landing," she sighs and moves to her back beside him. "I can't go to Storm's End, the Twins, the Vale, Harrenhal, the Riverlands, or Braavos. Too many bad memories," he takes her hand in his between them on the bed.

"That doesn't leave many options," he says somberly.

"I might go west. West of Westeros." He turns to look at her then, his brows no doubt furrowed. She settles on her side to see him better.

"There isn't anything west. You got a ship hidden somewhere?" She gives him a soft smile and shakes her head.

"No, and I'm not saying I'm leaving tomorrow. I will have to prepare, but that's what I'd like to do when I can." He nods and doesn't like the sound of her doing that by herself... or with a male crew. "I don't suppose you know anything about ships?" Arya's gaze shifts to their hands as she asks.

He can't help but smile at her hesitant question. It warms him to know she wants him with her after this, and that this brave girl is softened by him. He turns enough to haul her up onto his chest. Arya lets out a small yelp, and he chuckles as she braces her palms on his chest.

"You think I'm going to let you sail away?" He scoffs and sits up to nuzzle her neck before continuing. "I'd follow you to the ends of the world... which might be Westeros," he grins, and now it's her turn to let out a small laugh. His hands are skimming her back, hips, and thighs as she straddles his lap. She gives him a kiss that's thorough and sweet.

"I wish we'd done this sooner," she says a bit breathlessly as she wraps her arms around his neck. He's distracted by the feel of her naked chest against him, and it takes him a minute to understand.

"Sooner? You're just barely a woman, and I don't take little girls," he snorts and shakes his head. "Besides, you hated me back then." Arya smacks him on the arm, and he pretends it hurts.

"Not back then, just _sooner_. I haven't hated you in at least two years," Arya says with a smile. "If I ever really did," she leans in and kisses his nose. "I could have been married off to some Lord at fifteen like Sansa," she says, sounding a bit sad at the thought.

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he just holds her tighter. She tightens her arms around him in response. "I wanted to hug you the day you told me what your brother did to you," she says quietly against his neck. "And the day I saw you in the forge with Gendry."

"Both times you looked at me like you wanted me dead," he says without reproach. Arya sits up and looks at him with sparkling eyes.

"I don't want you dead. I'm thankful that we had these weeks together. I'm also glad that we took a chance and now know what it's like to be loved," he nods and gives her a sad smile. He's glad too of course, but it just serves as a reminder that this day could be their last. He won't be able to avoid it as they reach the city, but for now, it's too soon.

"Arya," he stops, deciding that words will never be enough. He moves one hand to cup her cheek and presses his mouth to hers. His lips are soft and slightly parted, and he finds hers warm and moist. He feels her hands on his back and chest. He slides one hand from her cheek to her hair, as the other holds her close.

Their tongues meet, and her legs wrap around him. She sucks suggestively on his tongue and his breath hitches. He drags her so snug against him that her back curves. He moves his mouth down her neck to nuzzle her tits and to lick and suck on her nipples. He feels her hand in his hair, keeping his mouth on her, as she rocks her hips against his cock.

"Sandor," she sounds breathless and needy. He nibbles and sucks, and then soothes with soft licks and wet kisses. Before long, she pulls his head back up to kiss her lips. They're breathing heavy, and her hips are in constant motion. With a growl, he pulls her up and breaks the kiss.

He can see the want in her eyes and reaches down to position himself. Arya bites her lip, tips her head back, and digs her nails into his shoulders as he lowers her carefully onto his cock. He moves her along his length a couple times before she takes over. Her hands grab his neck, his hair, his shoulders, as she rides him.

Sandor closes his eyes, lost in the feeling of her warm wetness, and desire for him. His big hands find her hips and move her to grind and circle rather than just bounce. She gasps and moans loudly at the new sensations, and he grits his teeth to avoid losing it this soon. With him back in control, Arya's hands slide down his chest and brace herself against his thighs. He adjusts slightly, and the result is... _fuck_.

He can see everything. Sandor watches his cock disappear between her glistening folds. He slows the pace to savor it and notices that she's watching now too. He begins moving her all the way up and down, fucking her slow and deep. Her eyes close, and her hand slides off his leg. Unable to hold herself up, she lays back on the bed with her hips still in his hands.

She's so fucking sexy this way, but she's too far away. He moves over her body and wraps his arms under her waist and neck. Sandor begins moving hard and deep. He rubs against her and holds her still. Arya is moaning loudly, biting his neck, and clawing his back.

He feels her tremble and her breaths become shaky. When she tumbles over the edge, he follows. She holds his head gently against her neck as they calm down. He whispers that he loves her, and she holds him tighter. When he finally forces himself to move, her eyes are glossy, and he pulls her close.

They stay in bed as long as possible that morning. Kissing, talking, touching, what ifs, and hoping. Sandor uses his mouth to make her scream and shudder. Twice. Arya had then straddled him, keeping her chest against his, as she worked them both into satisfaction.

He hadn't wanted to leave. He knew they had to, or they'd never have an opportunity to prepare. With a heavy heart, he had readied their things and set off on their final ride. He watched her as often as he could, holding her hand when possible, and never wanted to let her go.

* * *

Arya looks back at him and slows until they're side by side. He wants to hug her one more time, kiss her, tell her that he loves her, but they're in the thick of it now. Her eyes seem to reflect what he's feeling. Sandor turns his attention forward as they enter the camp. He will fight for redemption, for duty, for revenge, and for love. _Gods help him, but above all else, keep her safe_.

* * *

_Set me on fire,_  
_With endless words_  
_To show my worth_  
_You take me to a place I’ve never known_

_Set me on fire,_  
_With silent kisses like the sunset_  
_Darkness is our playground we call home,_

_Running free in the daylight,_  
_Feeling safe in the night time,_  
_With your eyes beside me,_  
_This love I won’t fight_

_Never really meant to start a spark_  
_But this love_  
_This love is like arrows through our hearts_  
_I’m dreaming_

_Storms they may come_  
_But I’m here to stay_  
_Cause this heart is my anchor_  
_No, I won’t drift away_

_Fearlessly in love,_  
_With all of your ways_  
_Shoot an arrow through my heart_  
_With your love and embrace_

_Set me on fire,_  
_With endless words_  
_To show my worth_  
_You take me to a place I’ve never known_

_Set me on fire,_  
_With silent kisses,_  
_Like the sunset_  
_Darkness is our playground we call home_

_Bella Ferraro, "Set Me On Fire"_


	14. Epilogue

Arya stands on the prow of her ship overlooking the Sunset Sea. She is grateful for the quiet moment to herself. Though her crew has been generously sharing their knowledge and experiences with her, and she hand-selected those she deemed trustworthy, Arya is still most comfortable when she's alone. _Not quite true_.

Sandor is never far from her mind. It has been two months since she's seen or heard from him. Not a day goes by that she doesn't regret leaving him in the map room. She had been scared by the chaos and destruction, overwhelmed by his plea to save herself, and moved almost mindlessly. She had escaped the Keep and wanted to return to him, to convince him to come with her, but couldn't.

The city was in ruins, people burned and dying in the streets, and nowhere safe to hide or retreat. Arya had been horrified that Daenerys chose to destroy the city, and murder everyone in it. Arya had gotten on the horse and rode directly to the spot Sandor had chosen. It hadn't taken her long to ride there since most of the walls and gates had burned.

Once there, she rested on the ground and succumbed to exhaustion. She awoke sometime later, and Sandor still hadn't come. Had Gregor won? Was he trapped in the Keep? Or had he been hit by rubble or dragonfire trying to flee?

Arya wanted to go in after him but worried she'd miss him, and he'd go back in after her. She paced, chewed her lip, held her head in her hands, all the while letting out a string of curses. Unable to resist any longer, she went back, not wanting to lose any more daylight.

She searched tirelessly for days -every pile of bodies, every crumbled building, every charred corpse. Her hands and fingers were raw from scrapes and cuts. The Keep was particularly fragile and dangerous to search. She went to where she saw him last and didn't like what she found - dead guards, Qyburn, blood, fire damaged walls, and two _big fucking swords_. She's pretty sure one belongs to him and her heart breaks. Arya won't give up. She won't leave him here to die.

In the end, she hadn't had much choice. Sandor and Gregor appeared to have vanished. She had met up with Grey Worm and Jon, but neither had seen him. When nobody could find Cersei either, she let herself hope, but that disintegrated when Tyrion shared the discovery of his siblings. Cersei deserved to suffer. Arya should have stayed to deliver justice.

She remained in King's Landing in the weeks that followed. She spent her days securing a ship, crew, and supplies. She spent her evenings resolutely searching the city. Arya questioned anyone she found alive, but nobody had seen him. At night, she slept when she could and cried when she couldn't.

After the council made their choice for a new king, Arya decided it was time to go. She gave Gendry a proper apology and goodbye, wishing him all the best. She said goodbye to her family. Arya spent her last night in King's Landing looking for Sandor once again. She boarded her ship with his sword and his horse and never felt more alone.

This sea and the ship give her some comfort. They're unfamiliar and don't remind her of anyone or anything she left behind. She thinks Sandor would enjoy it too if he were here. She misses his voice, his deep brown eyes, and the way she felt in his arms. Arya doesn't know how she'll manage without him by her side. They had spent almost every minute together those two weeks, and then he was just gone. The knot in her stomach seems to expand and weigh more as the days go by.

On the eighth day in the Sunset Sea, Arya begins to have dreams. Each night she sees a different person she knows. She doesn't give them much thought because they seem insignificant and don't stir up negative emotions. Arya dreams about Bran, Melisandre, Jaqen, Beric, and Thoros. Each morning she tries to recall what they did and said, but can't remember much at all.

The next dream is different. Arya wakes up covered in sweat and gasping for air. She looks around the darkened cabin with wide eyes, blinking furiously, trying to clear the images from her head. _No. No, not like that_. She's trembling and can feel her pulse throbbing in her neck.

She can still smell the smoke. She curls forward hugging her knees and rocks herself back and forth. Unlike before, she can remember everything about this dream. Arya stood on that bloody and broken staircase in the Keep. She heard the dragon overhead and heavy thuds from the falling stones.

She climbed the stairs to where she found his sword after the war ended. She paused when she heard a fight. Grunts, swords clanking and screams. _Sandor_. She heard him laugh, and then she was flooded with pain.

Arya squeezed her eyes shut and reached out to steady herself. She heard him yell, and then an explosion. She tried to open her eyes but couldn't. In a flash, all sounds disappeared. She panicked, trying to find him, trying to find out why she couldn't see, and why she couldn't hear.

Suddenly, she was hot. Too hot. She couldn't breathe and laid down on her back on the stairs. It felt like she was on fire. She patted her body with her hands to put out the flames, but her skin and clothes weren't burning.

The visions started then, silent and haunting. _A little girl with Sandor's eyes. A wooden knight in a boy's hand. Green fire exploded in the distance. A man with a golden pendant smiling. A pointed mountain. An army of wights. Herself asleep, a big hand in her hair. A monster with a dagger in his eye. Flames. Fire. Darkness._

Arya leans over the side of the bed and vomits. She's choking, and her vision blurs. She curls up on the rug, her mind racing. Was that just a nightmare? Was that real? The tears come then, and she's too tired to fight them. She cries for his pain and suffering, as well as hers. She curses the bloody fool for leaving her. She rages that such a beautiful man sacrificed himself for that... thing. She sobs for her poor heart, and his soul. Before long, she passes out.

She wakes up the next morning on the floor. The smell is awful, and the day is too bright. She sits on the edge of her bed and thinks. Slowly, she starts to recall the earlier dreams, and really listens to what she hears each person say. Her dream from last night, combined with the others, finally start to make sense.

Arya replays the previous dreams. _Bran, "Mostly, I live in the past." Melisandre, "The Lord brought him back for a purpose." Jaqen, "Only death can pay for life." Beric, "The Lord of Light isn't done with you yet!" Thoros, "I have no power. I ask the Lord of His favor, and He responds as He will. Lord, cast your light upon this man, your servant. Bring him back from death and darkness. His flame has been extinguished, restore it_."

Suddenly, she stands up and holds her head high. Fuck the Gods. Fuck death. They can't have him.. Sandor is hers. Though the way is uncertain, she will not fail. She will find a way to right this horrible wrong. She's not going west without Sandor. She squares her shoulders and clenches her fists. 

"I'm Arya Stark, Princess of Winterfell, sister of the Three-Eyed Raven and King of the Six Kingdoms, former servant of the God of Death, bonded to a direwolf, killer of the Night King, and aided by a Priest and Priestess of the Lord of Light." She says the words aloud, and gains confidence as they echo in her head. "I saved the world for fuck's sake. Doesn't that count for something?" 

All of her strange connections must be good for _something_. She will stop at nothing until he's returned to her, no matter the cost. Someone owes her a favor, and she's about to collect. 

Valar Dohaeris, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your likes and comments were very much appreciated, and I'm happy there are others that love this couple as much as I do!


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